A  NOVEL 
JF2~ec?e2~2c 


\  1 1  1 1  1 1  1 1  1 1  1 1  1 1  1 1  i  i  1 1  M  1 1  1 1  i  i  1 1  -M  1 1  1 1  'i  i  ii-r 

^e/i'^c^cio^iia^^cn^o^fjo^^o^ii<^fjO^^e^ 

A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

t^O^^O^^O^^O^^O^tLtf^^O^^O^^^ 

ij.    «J.  *J|   ^*  jji    «J     I|L  wji  _]_  _  J  _  ij»  *J  i  »j»  *f  •  _|i_ -if*  i.J*  a^i  ,J.  a^*  i|>  >|i  _J_  _|^  >J*  »|.  LJ"  *J'  *)»•  "J*  "H"  *|*  *J"  *H"  *J*  "f"  'J1    '('  '|'    '|* 


"BASIL  ROSE  PROMPTLY  AND  EMPTIED  HIS  PIPE" — Page 


MARYLAND! 
MANOR 

A  Novel  of  Plantation 
Aristocracy  and  its  Fall  | 


By    Frederic  Emory 

With  a  frontispiece  by 

B.  West  Clinedinst 


NEW  YORK 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

Publishers 


COPYRIGHT,  1901. 
BY  FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


SECOND  EDITION 


STACK 
ANNEX 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  steamboat  Severn  had  just  left  her  wharf  in  the 
harbour  of  Baltimore  for  one  of  the  Tidewater  counties  of 
Maryland.  It  was  a  little  after  daybreak,  and  the  leaden 
grey  of  the  east  was  tinged  with  a  faint  flush  of  rose.  A 
cutting  breeze  made  shelter  welcome,  and  all  the  passengers, 
save  two,  had  sought  the  warmth  of  the  saloon.  These  two 
were  standing  aft  on  the  hurricane  deck,  and  one  of  them — 
a  tall,  well-knit  young  fellow  in  a  suit  of  grey  tweed — was 
gazing  moodily  down  upon  the  furrow  of  foam  the  vessel 
left  in  her  wake.  His  companion — a  stout,  vulgar-looking 
man  of  middle  age,  in  black  broadcloth  and  an  antiquated 
stovepipe  hat — was  regarding  him  with  some  uneasiness. 

"  Really,  Oswald,"  he  said  in  an  injured  tone,  "  you  seem 
to  be  anything  but  glad  to  get  home." 

"  I'm  not  glad,  father,"  said  Oswald  irritably,  "  I  wish 
you  had  let  me  stay  abroad." 

"  What — for  good?  Separate  myself  permanently  from 
you  ?  Impossible,  my  boy  1  " 

"  You  might  have  come  to  me,"  suggested  Oswald,  a 
gleam  of  satire  in  his  dark  blue  eyes.  He  knew  the  idea 
was  absurd.  Even  had  he  cared  for  his  father's  society — 
and  nothing  could  have  been  more  unwelcome — it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  entice  him  far  from  home.  Not  that 
his  home  had  any  inherent  attraction  for  him.  Mr.  Reeve, 

i 


2  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

indeed,  felt  quite  as  strong  a  distaste  for  it  as  his  son 
seemed  to  cherish.  It  was  the  one  spot  above  all  others 
where  he  would  have  chosen  not  to  live,  but  chance  had 
anchored  him  there,  and  he  clung  to  it  tenaciously  because 
it  had  come  to  be  the  centre  of  his  interests,  his  purposes 
in  life.  These  absorbed  him  to  the  exclusion  of  every  con 
sideration  save  his  affection  for  his  son.  Even  this  was 
subordinate  to  and  helped  to  feed  his  special  ambitions. 
Naturally  coarse  and  masterful,  with  a  cold,  calculating 
mind  and  a  firm  conviction  that  material  advancement  was 
everything,  he  was  impatient  of  any  softer  feelings  that 
might  conflict  with  the  objects  he  had  at  heart.  The  only 
luxury  of  the  sort  that  he  permitted  himself  was  his  weak 
ness  for  his  elegant,  handsome  boy,  and  he  flattered  himself 
he  had  that,  too,  under  good  control.  For  years  he  had 
been  the  slave  of  his  profession — the  law — and  had  be 
grudged  every  moment  that  was  not  occupied  with  busi 
ness  as  a  foolish  waste  of  time.  It  was  with  a  guilty 
sense  of  extravagance  that  he  had  yielded  to  the  tempta 
tion  to  take  two  whole  days  from  his  affairs  in  order 
that  he  might  go  to  Baltimore  and  meet  Oswald  returning 
from  a  long  stay  in  Europe.  He  had  tried  hard  to  dissuade 
himself,  and  await  his  son's  arrival,  but  curiosity  had  finally 
overcome  his  scruples. 

He  was  eager  to  see  what  Oswald  was  like.  They  had 
been  parted  for  nearly  two  years.  Had  he  acquired  the 
polish  he  had  sent  him  abroad  to  seek  ?  He  had  soon  sat 
isfied  himself  on  this  point;  he  was  even  beginning  to  fear 
Oswald  had  too  much  polish.  There  was  a  fastidiousness 
in  his  dress,  his  manner,  his  whole  appearance  that  made 
the  father  proud,  and  yet  uncomfortable.  What  did  Oswald 
think  of  him  ?  No  doubt,  he  seemed  awkward,  uncouth, 
"  common  "  to  this  exceedingly  refined  young  person. 

"  Come  to  you  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  nervous  laugh,  in 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  3 

answer  to  his  son's  suggestion,  "  why,  half  the  county  would 
have  been  in  a  mess.  The  business  of  all  the  big  people  is 
in  my  hands.  Every  old  family  has  got  into  the  habit  of 
saying  it  '  can't  do  without  Reeve  ' — damn  them." 

He  uttered  the  last  two  words  with  some  heat,  but  also  with 
some  complacency. 

"  You  seem  to  be  making  a  good  thing  of  it — why  damn 
them  ?  "  asked  Oswald.  He  knew  well  enough,  but  was 
curious  to  hear  his  father's  reasons.  He  wondered  whether 
he  had  any  fresh  causes  of  offence. 

"  Because  they  insist  upon  treating  me  as  if  I  were  nothing 
more  than  a  machine.  They  use  my  brains — why  ?  Be 
cause  they  find  it  to  their  advantage.  But  as  to  associating 
with  me,  no  indeed  !  I  am  a  better  man  than  any  of  them  ; 
I  can  twist  them  and  turn  them  to  any  purpose  I  choose  ; 
they  follow  meekly  where  I  lead — in  all  matters  of  business. 
Their  confidence  in  me  is  unbounded  ;  I  could  ruin  them  if 
I  wished.  You  might  suppose  they  would  fear  me.  Not  at 
all.  It  never  enters  their  heads  that  I  would  dare  to  hurt 
them.  What,  the  son  of  an  overseer  presume  to  cherish  the 
thought  of  injury  to  them !  And  Colonel  Cheston  is  the 
worst  of  them  all.  He  thinks  his  family  made  me,  because 
his  father,  the  Judge,  took  me  into  his  office,  a  ragged  boy, 
and  taught  me  law.  That  man  makes  my  blood  boil ;  he  is 
always  so  lofty.  One  might  suppose  I  was  one  of  his 
niggers." 

Oswald  shivered  slightly. 

"  You  ought  to  be  able  to  understand,"  he  said,  looking 
away  from  his  father,  "  why  I'm  not  glad  to  get  back  to 
that." 

"  But  it  will  be  different  for  you/'  There  was  a  touch  of 
eagerness,  as  if  to  convince,  in  the  elder  man's  tone.  "  Your 
mother  was  a  lady,  if  she  did  many  me.  Her  people,  though 
poor,  are  first-rate,  and  will  help  you  along.  Besides,  the 


4  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

most  hidebound  of  these  aristocrats  can't  resist  you.  The 
Colonel  always  liked  you.  If  he  puts  the  Cheston  stamp  on 
you,  you're  safe.  No  one  will  dispute  his  verdict.  He's 
the  social  autocrat  of  the  county,  as  you  know." 

Oswald  glanced  at  his  father  rather  pityingly.  He  was  a 
shrewd  man — no  "sharper"  lawyer,  people  said,  in  the 
whole  circuit — and  yet,  he  could  so  delude  himself.  None 
knew  better  the  nature  of  the  prejudices  he  expected  him  to 
overcome.  His  mother's  social  position  could  be  of  little 
benefit  to  him.  It  was  but  a  memory.  She  had  long  been 
dead.  His  father  was  living — an  active  irritant  to  these  prej 
udices,  as  he  had  always  been.  Had  he  not  just  put  the 
real  situation  clearly,  if  coarsely,  in  saying  that  Colonel 
Cheston  had  but  little  more  regard  for  him  than  for  "  one 
of  his  niggers"?  How  could  he,  Oswald,  hope  to  escape 
the  social  ignominy  of  the  fact  that  "  Lawyer  Reeve,"  as  he 
was  popularly,  and  by  some  contemptuously  called,  was  his 
father  ?  The  "  old  families  "  might  consent,  for  his  mother's 
sake,  to  receive  him  in  their  homes,  though  he  was  by  no 
means  sanguine  even  as  to  this,  but  it  would  be  on  suffer 
ance  only,  and  his  father's  presence  in  these  same  houses 
as  a  mere  hireling,  with  no  title  to  social  recognition,  would 
always  be  a  barrier  to  that  equality  which  he  felt  to  be  his 
right.  In  Europe,  he  had  moved  in  the  best  circles  of  the 
great  capitals.  His  ample  means — for  his  father,  naturally 
close,  had  not  stinted  him  in  his  allowance — his  good  looks, 
his  easy  manners  had  enabled  him  to  win  his  way  in  the 
most  exclusive  "sets."  No  one  asked  for  his  pedigree.  It 
was  enough  that  he  was  a  rich  young  American,  of  good  ad 
dress.  They  accepted  Americans  over  there  without  laying 
too  much  stress  upon  their  antecedents,  if  they  were  well- 
behaved  and  amusing.  But  here,  in  his  own  home,  it  was 
different.  Here,  he  was  known  as  Lawyer  Reeve's  son. 
Here,  his  social  status  could  be  accurately  gauged.  Every- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  5 

one  would  recall  the  fact  that  his  grandfather  had  been  a 
"  poor  white,"  an  overseer.  This  narrow  rural  aristocracy, 
while  it  might  tolerate  him,  on  occasion,  would  always  hold 
him  at  arm's  length,  ready,  at  any  moment,  to  check  the  least 
symptom  of  presumption. 

Nor  could  he  have  looked  for  sympathy,  even  had  he 
cared  for  it,  outside  this  class.  There  were  no  elements 
capable  of  making  head  against  it.  His  pretensions  would 
be  viewed  with  derision  even  by  the  "  poor  whites."  The 
aristocratic  principle  was  so  thoroughly  ingrained  in  Tide 
water  society  that  a  man  was  generally  held  to  be  foolish  who 
attempted  to  run  counter  to  it.  Slavery  here,  as  elsewhere 
in  the  South,  had  built  up  a  plantation  caste  which  domi 
nated  everything.  In  this  instance,  hereditary  and  local  in 
fluences  had  combined  to  fix  it  hard  and  fast  in  very  nearly 
its  original  lines,  laid  down  by  colonists  of  Stuart  times. 
Nowhere  did  the  old  English  ideas  of  rank,  of  consequence 
attaching  to  the  ownership  of  land,  of  limiting  control  of 
affairs  to  a  privileged  few,  flourish  so  luxuriantly  or  linger  so 
long  on  American  soil  as  on  the  shores  of  the  Chesapeake 
and  its  tributaries. 

Oswald  knew  but  little  of  the  origin  or  causes  of  this  con 
dition  of  things,  but  he  was  thoroughly  familiar  with  its 
practical  effects.  It  seemed  to  him  the  very  appearance  of 
the  country  was  typical  of  the  spirit  of  conservatism,  of 
unchanging  fixity  of  habits  which  opposed  a  stolid  indiffer 
ence  to  new  ideas.  On  the  one  side,  the  Tidewater  region 
was  shielded  from  the  buffets  of  the  Atlantic  by  the  Dela 
ware  Peninsula ;  on  the  other,  from  the  full  scope  of  the 
western  winds  by  a  barrier  of  hills  ascending  gradually  to 
the  vast  bulwark  of  the  Alleghanies.  It  lay  inert,  contented, 
smiling  in  its  comparative  immunity  from  rude  disturbance. 
Its  surface  was  either  flat,  or  slightly  rolling,  with  here  and 
there  a  range  of  cliffs  of  yellow  clay,  or  prominent  bluffs 


6  A  MARYLAND  MANOR  i 

along  the  shores  of  the  bay.  There  were  many  broad,  slow- 
moving  rivers,  into  which  flowed  a  network  of  creeks  and 
coves  scarcely  less  sluggish.  Everywhere,  one  met  the 
same  suggestion  of  leisure,  of  obstinate  placidity.  A  poetic 
beauty  might  often  be  found  in  the  silvery  reaches  of  the 
water-courses  ;  in  the  brooding  mystery  of  great  salt  marshes, 
with  their  creeping  thoroughfares  or  still  lagoons,  or  of 
dark,  stagnant  pools  in  the  heart  of  lonely  stretches  of 
forest ;  in  distant  glimpses  of  sunlit  spaces  of  the  bay 
beyond  low  points  or  islands  clothed  with  phalanxes  of 
pines,  but  it  was  beauty  of  the  passive  kind  which  rarely 
strikes  a  stern  or  tragic  note.  The  Chesapeake  and  its 
estuaries  were  the  only  potent  elements  of  change.  The 
great  bay  was  sometimes  boisterous  enough,  but  its  usual 
aspect  was  one  of  dreamy  calm  or  languorous  movement, 
and  its  occasional  fits  of  rage  but  served  to  emphasise  the 
general  quietude. 

As  Nature  here  was  in  a  state  of  self-satisfied  indolence, 
so,  with  but  few  exceptions,  were  the  people.  Their  sur 
roundings  were  all  benign.  They  considered  themselves 
peculiarly  favoured,  and  cherished  so  strong  a  conceit  in  their 
kindly  soil,  their  genial  climate,  the  choiceness  of  their 
viands,  that  it  often  moved  them  to  compassion  for  the  world 
at  large.  The  home  of  the  canvas-back  duck,  the  diamond- 
back  terrapin  ;  the  Chesapeake  oyster,  the  bay  mackerel, 
the  tailor,  the  shad,  might  be  expected  to  breed  a  race  of 
epicureans.  Existence  was  made  so  easy,  so  pleasant,  so 
restful  for  them,  that  it  was  but  natural  they  should  wish  it 
to  move  on  undisturbed,  at  the  same  leisurely  gait,  like  the 
slow  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tide  which  gave  the  region  its  name. 
Life  quickened  its  pace  only  as  it  got  farther  and  farther 
away  from  the  basin  of  the  Chesapeake  and  began  to  climb 
the  slopes  of  the  restless  world  beyond. 

There  was,  in  fact,  a  sharp  line  of  cleavage  between  the 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  7 

people  of  the  Tidewater  counties  and  those  who  dwelt  in  the 
higher,  less  sheltered,  portions  of  the  state.  The  latter  felt 
the  tonic  of  sharper,  more  invigorating  winds  ;  they  were 
brought  into  contact  with  the  busy  activity  of  the  world  at 
large  ;  the  stress  of  competition,  of  difficulties  to  be  met  and 
conquered  developed  their  energies  in  many  ways  unknown 
to  their  softly  placed  brethren  of  the  lowlands.  Mechanical 
industries  flourished  among  them ;  there  were  factories  and 
mines  and  busy  towns  ;  the  lands  were  divided  into  small 
holdings  supporting  thrifty,  hard-working  families  ;  the  atmos 
phere  was  thoroughly  democratic.  Oswald  Reeve  would 
have  had  no  serious  inequalities  confronting  him  there;  his 
father  would  have  found  a  free  field  for  his  ambition,  his 
bustling  energy. 

The  Tidewater  region,  on  the  other  hand,  was  almost 
wholly  agricultural,  with  large  acreages  in  tobacco  or  in 
wheat  and  corn,  and  society  was  divided  broadly  into  two 
classes — the  planters,  with  scores  of  slaves,  who  owned  nearly 
all  the  land — and  the  "  poor  whites,"  including  tenants  and 
overseers,  who  had  neither  land  nor  slaves.  An  interme 
diate  class,  recruited  from  both,  and  composed  chiefly  of 
shopkeepers,  was  but  vaguely  defined.  It  could  have  no 
strong  individuality  of  its  own,  from  the  fact  that  it  was,  to 
a  large  extent,  parasitic,  depending  for  sustenance  chiefly 
upon  the  planters.  Here  and  there,  a  "  small  farmer  " 
might  be  found  who  owned  his  land,  but  he,  too,  attached  him 
self  as  a  rule  to  some  planter  under  whose  protecting  author 
ity  he  found  safe  refuge  from  difficulties  which  were  beyond 
his  strength.  Every  Tidewater  neighborhood  had  its  local 
magnate,  its  petty  great  man,  the  legitimate  descendant  of 
the  old  English  squire.  The  popular  attitude  towards  these 
personages  was  one  of  good-humored  sufferance.  There 
was  no  general  discontent  with  their  monopoly  of  dignities, 
of  political  as  well  as  of  social  honors,  or  even  their  exclu- 


8  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

siveness,  for  the  reason  that  the  people  were  used  to  their 
control,  and  had  found,  upon  the  whole,  that  it  worked  very 
well  and  saved  them  trouble  and  bother  to  which  they  were 
not  in  the  least  inclined. 

It  was  an  amiable  despotism,  when  not  opposed.  Its 
temper  was  seldom  ruffled  except  by  impertinent  encroach 
ments  upon  its  dignity.  It  rested,  serene  and  confident, 
in  custom,  tradition,  the  general  inaptitude  for  change.  It 
was  only  now  and  then  that  some  bold  spirit,  with  private 
ambitions  of  his  own,  had  the  hardihood  to  dispute  its 
authority  or  to  seek  to  share  its  privileges  against  its  will. 
Suppression,  in  one  way  or  another,  was  his  inevitable  fate. 
He  was  snuffed  out  socially,  or  if  his  aspirations  were 
political,  he  was  disciplined  in  party  conventions  or  at  the 
polls.  The  planter  found  his  "  poor  white  "  followers  in 
valuable  in  the  latter  case,  and  seldom  had  to  complain 
of  their  lack  of  zeal.  They  were,  if  anything,  more  intolerant 
than  he  of  efforts  on  the  part  of  members  of  their  class  to 
rise  above  the  general  level.  If  they  were  to  have  people 
over  them,  they  preferred  that  they  should  be  thosa. 
to  whom  they  had  always  been  accustomed.  They  were 
genuine,  they  had  an  inherited  claim  to  respect ;  the  "  new 
people  "  were  merely  "  puttin'  on  airs  "  and  their  anxiety  to 
separate  themselves  as  widely  as  possible  from  their  former 
associates  usually  stirred  the  latter  to  resentment  and  to 
active  efforts  to  reduce  them  to  a  proper  state  of  humility. 
Naturally,  the  discomfited  aspirants  were  often  bitter. 

Owsald  Reeve  knew  that  his  father  had  been  one  of  the 
most  obstinate  of  these  malcontents,  and  that  his  experiences 
had  been  such  as  to  make  him  particularly  sour.  His  vanity 
was  extreme  ;  his  ambition  inordinate.  He  often  boasted  to 
his  familiars  that  he  was  wholly  a  self-made  man.  It  was 
true  Judge  Cheston  had  educated  him  and  set  him  up  as  a 
lawyer,  but  his  own  shrewdness  and  energy  alone  had  enabled 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  9 

him  to  achieve  success.  The  qualities  which  had  com 
mended  him  as  a  useful  attorney,  a  clever  business  man, 
ought,  in  his  opinion,  to  count  in  his  favor  in  politics,  in 
social  life.  It  was  just  the  contrary.  His  self-confidence, 
his  "push,"  his  insensibility  to  rebuffs,  which  gave  him  a 
distinct  advantage  in  business  affairs,  served  only  to  bring 
into  stronger  relief  an  ingrained  coarseness  which  inflamed 
the  prejudices  he  sought  to  overcome.  He  hoped  to  win  by 
a  kind  of  tour  de  force  what  could  only  be  won  by  patient 
and  slow  approaches  and  by  fitting  himself  for  the  associa 
tion  he  desired. 

No  doubt,  he  realized  instinctively  that  the  last  was  im 
possible  for  him  ;  his  tastes  were  ineradicably  vulgar,  his 
manners  unalterably  "  common."  Try  as  hard  as  he  might, 
he  could  never  imitate  successfully  the  little  niceties  of 
speech  and  bearing  which  he  envied  in  Colonel  Cheston, 
for  example.  It  was  out  of  the  question  for  him  to  act, 
much  less  to  think  and  feel  as  gentlemen  did.  He  suc 
ceeded  only  in  making  himself  ridiculous.  It  was  the  con 
sciousness  of  this  that  caused  him  to  rely  all  the  more  upon 
his  fancied  resources  for  compelling  recognition.  Among 
these,  he  gave  the  first  place  to  the  power  of  money,  and 
his  natural  cupidity  was  intensified  by  his  ambition.  He 
devoted  all  his  energies  to  the  acquisition  of  a  fortune,  and 
as,  little  by  little,  he  got  control  of  the  affairs  of  many  large 
estates,  and  his  general  practice  as  a  lawyer  steadily  increased, 
he  became,  in  course  of  time,  a  man  of  considerable  wealth. 
The  reputation  of  being  a  money-lender  gave  him  undoubted 
weight  in  the  community  which  he  sought  to  increase  by 
ostentatious  display. 

He  could  hardly  have  committed  a  more  serious  blunder. 
There  was  nothing  more  obnoxious  to  the  Tidewater  squires 
than  a  vulgar  opulence.  Many  of  them  were  "  land  poor," 
and,  for  that  reason,  they  insisted  the  more  jealously  upon 


10  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

their  claims  to  consideration  on  the  score  of  position  and 
blood.  Money  was  a  dangerous  foe  to  their  prestige.  It 
was  all  very  well  so  long  as  Reeve  grew  rich  in  their  service 
'without  thrusting  his  money  under  their  noses ;  it  was  quite 
another  matter  when  he  undertook  to  use  it  as  a  means  of 
lifting  himself  to  equality  with  them.  The  impudence  of 
the  fellow  became  outrageous  when  it  was  learned  that  he 
had  taken  advantage  of  the  poverty  of  one  of  their  very  best 
families  to  persuade  a  member  of  it — a  middle-aged  spin 
ster  whose  hopes  of  a  socially  eligible  match  had  faded — to 
become  his  wife.  His  motive  was  perfectly  clear ;  he  hoped 
to  avail  himself  of  her  family  connections  to  improve  his 
status.  It  had  been  a  matter  of  bargain  and  sale.  Their 
sense  of  security  was  shaken.  If  one  of  their  class  could 
be  tempted  by  money,  others  might  be.  The  thing  must  be 
stopped  at  once.  Mrs.  Reeve  was  made  to  feel  that  she 
had  committed  a  social  enormity.  The  poor  woman,  who 
soon  discovered  that  her  husband  was  incorrigible,  suffered 
cruelly  from  her  isolation,  and  gradually  withered  away.  As 
for  Reeve,  the  lines  were  drawn  more  tightly  against  him 
than  ever. 

He  made  a  stubborn  fight  of  it,  but  finally  gave  up  the 
struggle  on  his  own  behalf,  and  pinned  all  his  hopes  upon 
his  son.  The  boy,  who  seemed  to  "  take  after  "  his  mother 
in  traits  of  sensitiveness  and  instinctive  refinement,  which  he 
had  certainly  not  inherited  from  him,  might  be  able  to  obtain 
for  him  what  he  had  so  signally  failed  to  obtain  for  himself. 
Reeve  set  to  work  with  great  zeal  to  make  the  most  of  these 
qualities.  His  son  should  have  the  advantages  that  had 
been  denied  to  him.  He  must  never  have  cause  to  complain 
of  the  ignorance  of  those  fine  airs  and  graces  which  had  so 
often  humiliated  and  baffled  him.  He  wished  him  to  be 
fitted,  at  all  points,  for  association  with  his  mother's  people. 
They  could  hardly  refuse  to  recognise  him  if  he  showed  him- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  11 

self  to  be  well-bred  and  responsive  to  their  finicky  ideas, 
and  it  was  more  than  probable  they  would,  at  last,  consent 
to  accept  him  for  his  son's  sake.  All  he  asked  was  an  en 
tering  wedge  ;  he  would  know  how  to  go  ahead  when  once 
inside  the  pale. 

In  pursuance  of  this  design,  which  he  thought  very  clever, 
he  employed  a  "  lady-governess,"  and  afterwards,  a  "  gentle- 
mon-tutor  "  for  Oswald  and  surrounded  him  with  servants 
bred  in  old  families.  He  sought  in  every  possible  way 
to  stimulate  his  ambition,  to  inculcate  in  him  "  genteel  " 
tastes,  and  even  to  suppress  his  own  individuality  as  far  as 
possible  in  the  boy's  presence,  lest  it  contaminate  him  with 
ideas  and  habits  which  he  could  not  shake  off.  When  he 
was  old  enough,  he  sent  him  to  Harvard,  and  after  he  had 
completed  the  course  there,  he  decided  it  would  be  well  for 
him  to  spend  a  couple  of  years  in  Europe.  That  was  a 
kind  of  "  finishing  off  "  which  ought  to  give  him  a  distinct 
advantage  among  his  future  associates.  But  few  of  the 
Tidewater  families  sent  their  sons  abroad,  and  a  young  man 
who  had  travelled  extensively  was  always  an  object  of  in 
terest  and  emulation  among  them. 

It  was  not  until  now  that  he  saw  him  again,  that  Lawyer 
Reeve  realised  the  possible  dangers  of  the  scheme  of  edu 
cation  which  he  had  pursued  so  confidently.  Perhaps  he 
had  overdone  the  thing.  He  had  never  concerned  himself 
on  this  point  before.  He  had  known  all  along  that  Oswald 
was  growing  more  and  more  unlike  him  ;  less  and  less  sym 
pathetic  ;  it  was  what  he  wished.  The  fewer  the  points  of 
similarity  between  them,  the  better.  He  had  thought  to 
attach  him  to  him  by  his  liberality,  his  zeal  in  his  interests, 
his  energy  in  "  pushing "  him.  How  could  his  son  help 
being  grateful  ?  Did  he  not  owe  everything  to  him  ?  Would 
not  his  evident  utility  atone  for  the  lack  of  qualities  that 
were  merely  ornamental  ?  He  was  not  so  sure.  He  didn't 


12  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

like  the  way  Oswald  looked  at  him  ;  it  reminded  him  of  the 
cool,  disparaging  criticism  he  had  so  often  read  in  the  eyes 
of  the  people  who  habitually  snubbed  him.  Was  it  possible 
he  must  be  cautious  about  taking  liberties  with  his  own  son  ? 
Nonsense !  The  boy  needed  him ;  he  couldn't  get  on 
without  him — he  must  soon  see  that.  He  would  have  to 
put  up  with  him,  whether  he  liked  it  or  not.  Nevertheless, 
he  was  very  uncomfortable.  Oswald  might  take  it  into  his 
head  to  rebel. 

Oswald  wished,  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  he  could 
rebel.  Nothing  would  have  pleased  him  better  than  to  cut 
loose  from  his  father.  He  was  conscious  of  no  obligation 
to  feel  grateful  to  him.  He  had  discovered  long  ago  that 
his  affection  was  largely  selfish,  that  it  was  his  own  ambi 
tion  he  sought  to  gratify  first  of  all.  He  felt  that  he  was 
little  more  than  a  convenient  tool.  From  early  childhood, 
he  had  suffered  keenly  from  his  clumsy  efforts  to  use  him  as 
a  means  of  exploiting  himself.  He  had  often  caused  him 
mortification  and  distress  by  taking  him  to  plantation  houses 
in  order  that  he  might  "  show  off."  On  such  occasions, 
Oswald  had  seen  clearly  enough  that  he  was  an  object  merely 
of  compassionate  curiosity ;  the  "  Quality "  evidently 
pitied  him  because  of  his  father,  but  were  restrained  from 
showing  him  more  than  a  polite  approbation,  lest  Reeve  seek 
to  reap  some  profit  from  their  indulgence.  It  was  even 
harder  for  him  when  he  was  brought  into  contact  with  the 
children  of  these  families.  They  were  not  so  considerate 
as  their  parents.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  often  brutally 
frank,  and  with  the  unconscious  arrogance  of  childhood, 
seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  making  him  feel  his  inferiority. 
Sometimes  they  were  openly  scornful  of  his  fine  clothes,  his 
costly  toys,  his  bountiful  supply  of  spending  money  ;  in 
their  crude  logic,  he  had  no  right  to  these  things.  His 
trials  of  this  sort  were  really  agonising ;  there  is  no  suffer- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  13 

ing  greater  than  that  of  a  sensitive  child  exposed  to  such 
slights. 

His  situation,  now,  was  even  worse.  His  tastes  were 
fully  formed,  his  habits  fixed,  his  standards  definite.  He 
had  been  a  swell  in  cautious  clubs  and  fashionable  draw 
ing-rooms  of  London  and  Paris,  a  social  favourite,  an  elegant 
idler.  The  gulf  between  him  and  his  father  had  widened 
immeasurably.  His  experiences  abroad  had  been  precisely 
such  as  to  make  his  father's  vulgarity,  his  solecisms  of  speech 
and  manner,  obnoxious  to  him.  He  had  feared  this  when 
he  received  a  summons  to  return  ;  the  reality  was  harsher, 
even,  than  he  had  imagined.  His  father  was  socially  im 
possible.  Imagine  having  to  introduce  him  to  some  of  his 
foreign  friends  !  Thank  Heaven,  he  would  be  spared  that, 
but  what  consolation  was  there  in  the  fact  that  though  he 
would  not  have  to  stand  sponsor  for  him  at  home,  his  father 
would  inevitably  attempt  to  stand  sponsor  for  him  ?  Oh, 
yes,  he  saw  it  all  so  plainly !  There  would  never  be  a 
moment  of  freedom  for  him.  He  would  be  handicapped  at 
every  turn  by  his  fatuous  activity.  It  would  be  just  as  it 
had  been  throughout  his  boyhood — the  smart,  self-confident 
attorney  busying  himself,  as  he  would  have  busied  himself 
with  a  case  in  court,  with  cheap  shyster  tricks  and  expedients 
which  would  have  only  the  effect  of  thrusting  him  into  an 
unpleasant  prominence,  of  exposing  him  to  more  resentful 
criticism.  He  felt  he  might  come  to  hate  this  burly,  com 
placent,  irrepressible  figure  if  it  were  always  at  his  elbow, 
eager  to  "  push  "  him. 

Cut  loose  from  him  ?  How  could  he  ?  He  had  no  re 
sources  in  himself.  If  he  were  capable  of  earning  his  own 
livelihood,  it  might  be  possible  to  escape  to  some  place 
where  Tidewater  prejudices  did  not  exist  and  begin  over 
again.  But  he  had  been  bred  in  idleness  and  was  utterly 
unfit  for  even  manual  labor.  His  father  had  always  pooh- 


H  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

poohed  the  idea  of  his  engaging  in  business  or  studying  a 
profession.  "  It's  your  business  to  be  a  gentleman,  my  son," 
he  had  once  said,  adding,  with  a  wink  and  a  slap  on  his 
trousers' pocket,  "  I've  enough  here  for  both  of  us.  There's 
no  need  for  you  to  work ;  I've  saved  you  from  that." 
Oswald  had  acquiesced  with  no  idea  that  work,  repugnant 
as  it  had  already  become  to  him,  might,  some  day,  seem  less 
grinding  than  a  luxurious  slavery  in  the  midst  of  the  condi 
tions  he  was  now  about  to  face.  It  had  been  pleasant 
enough — this  playing  gentleman — away  from  his  father ;  he 
realised,  too  late,  that  he  had  lost  the  energy,  the  inclination, 
even,  to  be  anything  else.  He  had  been  caught  in  the  web 
of  desires,  of  habits,  of  tastes  which  only  a  large  income 
could  satisfy.  He  was  wholly  dependent  upon  his  father  ; 
he  must  do  what  he  wished. 

All  the  way  home  from  Europe  he  had  been  striving  to 
convince  himself  it  might  not  be  so  bad,  but  from  the  instant 
his  father  had  greeted  him  in  Baltimore  until  now  that  they 
were  actually  on  the  final  stage  of  his  journey,  the  prospect 
had  steadily  darkened,  and  he  had,  at  last,  reached  a  pitch 
of  nervous  impatience  which  was  almost  beyond  control. 
His  father's  presence  made  what  lay  before  him  so  imminent, 
so  vivid,  so  coarsely  real.  He  glanced  down  more  than 
once  upon  the  churning  waters  at  the  stern,  with  an  absurd 
desire  to  fling  himself  into  them.  It  was  all  so  trivial,  and 
yet  so  tragic.  Most  people  would  think  him  a  fool  for 
taking  it  so  much  to  heart ;  of  course,  his  father  would 
think  so ;  it  was  only  those  who  felt,  as  he  felt,  that  social 
proscription  meant  the  denial  of  all  that  made  life  pleasant 
and  desirable  who  could  realize  the  rank  injustice,  the 
humiliation,  the  actual  torture  of  it. 

"  Father,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  I  almost  wish  you  had 
never  tried  to  make  a  gentleman  of  me  j  it  might  have  been 
better  for  both  of  us," 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  15 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  gasped  Reeve,  with  a  look 
of  consternation.  For  a  moment,  he  feared  Oswald  was 
already  in  a  state  of  mutiny. 

Oswald  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  away.  He  could 
not  very  well  tell  his  father,  to  his  face,  that  he  was  ashamed 
of  him ;  that  he  would  have  been  much  more  comfortable  in 
his  society  if  he  were  less  unlike  him ;  that  he  might  even 
have  sympathised  with  him  had  he  never  been  raised  above 
his  level.  But  Lawyer  Reeve  did  not  need  to  be  told. 
His  spirits  sank.  It  was  but  too  evident  to  him,  now,  that 
his  son  regarded  him  as  an  incubus. 

"  Don't  say  that,"  he  exclaimed,  almost  piteously,  "  I've 
spent  such  a  lot  of  money  on  you  1  " 

Oswald  laughed  harshly.  It  was  so  like  him  to  think  of 
that  I  Everything  had  its  pecuniary  significance  to  him, 
first  of  all. 

"  Besides,"  continued  Reeve  eagerly,  "  you'll  get  used  to — 
to  " — he  was  about  to  say  "  me,"  but  stopped  short,  unwilling 
to  put  the  fact  so  baldly  to  his  son.  He  substituted  the 
word  "  things."  "  It  won't  be  half  so  hard,"  he  added, 
"  when  you've  shown  people  what  you  are.  You  are  wor 
ried,  now,  by  fancies  that  time  will  cure.  Take  my  word  for 
it,  they  are  really  exaggerated.  I'm  not  the  man  to  under 
rate  our  difficulties — haven't  I  been  floored  by  them,  again 
and  again  ?  But  you're  a  horse  of  another  colour.  Cheer 
up,  my  boy  ;  we're  bound  to  win  !  " 

He  had  gathered  confidence  as  he  proceeded ;  his  tone 
was  almost  boisterous  at  the  close.  It  grated  on  Os 
wald. 

"  Some  one  else  is  on  deck,"  exclaimed  Reeve  suddenly, 
glancing  forward.  "  Do  you  see  that  girl,  there,  by  the  wheel- 
house?  I  wish  she  were  here  beside  you,  in  my  place; 
you'd  find  her  interesting.  She's  the  beauty  of  the  county." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "    asked  Oswald,  with  a  careless  glance. 


16  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

She  seemed  to  be  a  graceful  creature  and  carried  herself 
well.  As  yet,  he  could  not  see  her  face. 

"  The  Colonel's  daughter— Lydia  Cheston." 

"  Could  you  not  introduce  me  ?  "  asked  Oswald  dryly. 

"  I  wouldn't  dare,"  said  his  father  hastily,  confused. 
"  Haven't  I  told  you  of  the  footing  on  which  I  stand  in  her 
father's  house  ?  Besides,  she  doesn't  like  me ;  she  flouts  me 
whenever  she  gets  the  chance." 

"  You  see  ?  "  said  Oswald,  bitterly,  "  I  knew  how  it  would 
be  ;  we  shall  run  against  this  sort  of  thing  at  every  turn." 

"No,  you  won't,  if  we  are  careful.  I — I  think  I'll  leave 
you  for  awhile.  It  would  be  better  if,  at  first,  she  didn't  see 
you  with  me.  Take  a  good  look  at  her  ;  I  assure  you,  it'll 
be  worth  your  while." 

Before  Oswald  could  protest,  if  he  were  inclined  to  do  so, 
his  father  had  turned  away  and  was  hurrying  below. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  sun  had  risen,  and  hung,  a  globe  of  crimson,  just 
clear  of  the  distant  water-line  towards  which  the  steamer 
was  heading.  Long  shafts  of  flame  marked  tremulous  stripes 
on  the  blue  expanse  of  the  Patapsco.  From  a  group  of  iron 
furnaces  on  the  northern  bank  of  the  river,  dense  clouds  of 
smoke  rolled  forth  and  floated  off  in  patches  of  purple  and 
lavender.  A  mantle  of  haze  enveloped,  without  concealing, 
the  city,  now  several  miles  away,  which  rose,  in  curving  tiers, 
along  the  face  of  a  chain  of  hills.  The  effect  was  that  of 
a  vast  amphitheatre  of  variously  tinted  stone  flushed  with 
amethyst  light  and  vaguely  outlined  against  the  dark,  rugged 
summits  which  brooded  sullenly  in  the  background. 

Lydia  Cheston  seemed  to  Oswald,  as  he  watched  her 
without  moving  from  his  place,  to  have  taken  just  the  posi 
tion  in  which  to  present  herself  to  the  best  advantage.  She 
was  standing  well  forward  of  the  wheel-house  near  the  guard 
rail,  and  there  was  nothing  between  her  and  the  setting  of 
sky  and  water  ahead.  From  this  luminous  screen,  her 
slender  figure,  clothed  in  some  dark  woollen  stuff,  stood  out  in 
bold  relief.  She  was  very  graceful,  and  as  the  vessel  rolled 
in  the  swell  of  a  rather  stiff  breeze,  she  kept  her  footing,  ap 
parently  with  little  effort,  and  swayed  easily  to  and  fro  in  a 
kind  of  instinctive  rhythm.  She  was  evidently  used  to  this 
sort  of  thing.  Oswald  fancied  the  poetry  of  motion,  both 
on  water  and  land,  was  something  she  had  unconsciously 
studied  from  her  earliest  years.  Her  family,  he  knew,  like 
most  of  those  of  the  Tidewater  planters,  were  devoted  to 
every  form  of  exercise  and  enjoyment  in  the  open  air.  Sailing, 
fox-hunting,  galloping  about  the  country,  were  their  daily 
2  17 


i8  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

amusements.  It  was  these,  no  doubt,  that  had  given  her  this 
easy  confidence,  this  supple  grace. 

But  was  she  a  "  beauty,"  as  his  father  had  asserted  ?  Her 
back  was  still  turned  towards  him,  and  it  was  impossible,  as 
yet,  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of  her  face.  All  that  he  could  see 
was  a  mass  of  curling  hair,  with  a  reddish  gleam  in  it,  tucked 
up  rather  loosely  under  a  wide-brimmed  hat,  and  the  tips  of 
two  tiny  ears.  He  moved  forward  as  close  to  her  as  he 
dared,  hoping  she  would  change  her  position,  but  she  seemed 
absorbed.  Apparently,  her  gaze  was  fixed  upon  some 
object  far  away,  but  looking  beyond  her,  Oswald  saw  noth 
ing  but  the  glittering  surface  of  the  bay. 

The  sun  was  now  fully  abroad,  and  its  beams,  changed 
from  crimson  to  gold,  cast  a  myriad  of  diamond  points  upon 
the  steel  blue  depths  of  the  river  which  was  tossing  in  long, 
crested  waves.  Vessels  under  full  sail  were  scudding  before 
the  wind  or  tacking  in  the  contrary  direction.  Others  lay 
at  anchor,  awaiting  tugs.  Ocean  steamers  moved  slowly 
along,  feeling  their  way  cautiously  in  the  narrow  channel. 
Coquettish  little  canoes  danced  impudently  near  the  massive 
bows  of  huge  "  three-masters  "  whose  cobweb  of  ropes  was 
delicately  outlined  against  the  clear  sky.  Sea-gulls  flitted 
hither  and  thither,  and  occasionally,  swept  in  graceful  curves 
about  the  vessel,  showing  flashes  of  snowy  white  at  certain 
angles  of  their  flight.  A  salty  flavour  was  perceptible  in  the 
breeze,  a  sign  that  the  steamer  was  nearing  the  Bay.  Lydia 
threw  back  her  head  and  seemed  to  be  drinking  in  the  brac 
ing  air  with  eager  relish,  but  did  not  change  the  direction  of 
her  gaze.  Oswald  was  strongly  tempted  to  do  something 
that  would  make  her  look  round.  He  was  saved  this  impru 
dence  by  the  sudden  arrival  on  the  scene  of  a  dog — a  coal- 
black  setter  who,  with  long,  graceful  leaps,  bounded  up  to 
the  girl,  and  with  a  loud  bark,  stretched  himself  close  to 
her  and  began  to  pull  her  dress,  rapping  the  deck  vig- 


orously  with  his  tail.  Lydia  turned  quickly,  with  a  merry 
laugh. 

"  Well,  Rover,  you  have  found  me,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I 
thought  I'd  given  you  the  slip." 

The  face  revealed  to  Oswald  was  something  rare.  He 
was  reminded,  at  once,  of  the  head  of  a  Flora-  he  had  seen 
on  a  cameo  brooch  at  a  famous  lapidary's  in  Rome.  It 
seemed  marvellous  that  chiselling  so  fine  and  true  could  have 
been  wrought  out  in  flesh  and  blood.  It  was  a  proud,  sen 
sitive  face,  lit  up  by  great  dark  eyes  which  gave  it  soul  and 
vividness,  and  the  glow  of  an  ardent  temper.  Oswald 
Reeve  was  a  rather  blase'  young  squire  of  dames,  and  in 
clined  to  be  critical  of  feminine  beauty.  Even  now,  he  was 
not  sure  that  she  was  beautiful,  according  to  his  standards — 
he  did  not  stop  to  ask  himself  the  question — but  she  pos 
sessed  the  gift  of  charm.  That  was  indisputable.  He  felt 
it  at  the  first  glance.  It  was  a  kind  of  charm  that  was  alto 
gether  new  to  him.  He  would  like  to  analyse  it  at  his  lei 
sure.  Hitherto,  he  had  classified  all  women  as  belonging  to 
certain  types.  If  Lydia  Cheston  belonged  to  any  type,  he 
had  stumbled  upon  a  new  species. 

"We  are  still  far  away,  Rover,"  she  said  softly,  stooping 
to  stroke  the  setter's  glossy  coat,  "  I  have  been  looking  so 
hard,  and  can  see  nothing  yet,  not  even  the  tiniest  speck  of 
land.  Our  land,  old  fellow  !  Come,  we  will  watch  together ; 
perhaps  we  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  it  soon.  Just  to  think 
of  being  there,  Rover — at  home,  you  understand.  Can't  you 
picture  it  all — the  dear  old  house,  the  garden,  the  fields,  the 
woods  for  you  to  roam  through,  instead  of  those  horrid  streets 
and  alleys  ?  Ah,  what  rambles  we  shall  have — you  and  I  1 " 

Rover  gazed  up  at  her  longingly  and  wagged  his  tail  with 
a  vigour  intended,  perhaps,  to  express  delight.  There  was 
certainly  a  look  of  some  kind  of  comprehension  in  his  clear 
yellow  eyes. 


20  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  his  mistress,  "  we'll  find  out  from 
Captain  Grimes  just  how  much  longer  it  will  be." 

As  she  spoke,  she  started  towards  the  wheel-house,  where 
the  master  of  the  vessel  happened  to  be  alone  at  the  wheel. 
He  was  a  short,  thick-set  old  mariner  of  ruddy  visage,  seamed 
and  wrinkled,  with  a  pair  of  keen  blue  eyes  which  brightened 
perceptibly  at  sight  of  the  girl's  charming  face  at  one  of  the 
windows.  Shifting  a  huge  quid  of  tobacco  from  one  side 
of  his  mouth  to  the  other,  and  wiping  his  lips  on  his  coat- 
sleeve,  he  said,  in  a  hearty  voice  : 

"  Well,  Miss  Lydyer,  how  goes  it  ?  " 

"  Dreadfully  slow,  Captain,"  she  said,  with  a  rueful  air, 
"  Can't  you  put  on  a  little  more  steam  ?  " 

"  Not  without  bustin'  the  biler.  We're  givin'  her,  now, 
all  the  law  allows.  It  seems  slow  to  you  because  you're 
goin'  home.  It's  always  the  way  with  you,  ever  since  I  can 
remember.  There  was  never  nothin'  fast  enough  for  you." 

"  I  suppose  I  am  impatient,"  admitted  "  Miss  Lydyer," 
"  but  so  would  you  be,  too,  if  you  had  been  cooped  up  for 
six  long  months  in  the  city." 

"And had  a  home  like  the  Manor  to  go  to,"  added  the 
Captain,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  It  is  lovely,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  demanded,  eagerly  catching 
at  his  note  of  sympathy. 

"  The  handsomest  place  on  the  river,"  asserted  the  Cap 
tain,  with  gratifying  emphasis.  "  And  so  it  ought  ter  be, 
with  yo'  Pa  for  its  master.  You  know  what  I  think  of  him. 
There  ain't  a  finer  man  livin',  I  say." 

The  girl's  eyes  kindled. 

"  Dear  papa !  "  she  murmured  softly.  "  What  good  taste 
you  have,  Captain  !  "  she  added,  laughing  gaily. 

"  Haven't  I  ?  Well,  I'm  rough,  but  I  know  a  gentleman 
when  I  see  him.  Yo'  Pa's  a  gentleman  of  the  old  sort.  I 
wish  there  was  more  like  him.  They're  getting  scarce. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  21 

Some  people  call  him  a  rustycrat.  That  don't  hurt.  If 
he's  a  rustycrat,  why  give  me  rusty crats,  all  the  time !  He 
don't  put  on  enny  airs  like  some  o'  these  rich  folks  that  ain't 
quite  sure  o'  where  they  stand.  Why,  bless  my  heart,  he 
makes  as  much  o'  me  as  if  I  was  his  ekal.  And  it's  just 
the  same  with  rich  or  po'.  He  can  afford  it — that's  why. 
I'm  a  dimmycrat,  and  in  a  gener'l  way  o'  speakin',  I  don't 
believe  in  puttin'  one  man  above  another,  but  we've  got  to 
have  leaders,  and  I'm  for  leaders  like  yo'  Pa,  that  have  the 
tone,  and  can't  be  bullied  or  bought.  The  Colonel  just  hits 
it  off :  I'd  foller  him  anywhere." 

The  Captain  was  a  garrulous  old  chap,  but  Lydia  knew 
he  was  sincere.  He  had  been  a  great  friend  of  hers  since 
she  was  a  tiny  maid.  She  had  often  crossed  the  Bay  with 
him,  and  always  spent  much  of  the  time  at  the  wheel-house 
window,  or  even  beside  him  at  the  wheel  itself,  listening  to 
his  stories  of  storms  and  adventures.  He  had  taught  her  to 
steer  the  vessel,  and  it  was  a  special  delight  to  her  to  be 
with  him  in  a  gale  and  watch  him  pilot  the  lumbering  old 
Severn  through  a  raging  sea.  There  was  a  grim  fearlessness 
in  his  weather-beaten  face  at  such  moments  which  she  loved 
to  see.  It  corresponded  to  her  own  youthful  courage, 
which  nothing,  as  yet,  had  ever  daunted.  She  had  learned 
to  trust  him  absolutely  and  attached  a  greater  importance  to 
his  opinions  than  his  extremely  limited  range  of  information 
warranted.  He  was  too  clumsy  as  well  as  too  honest  to  lie, 
but  even  if  she  had  thought  he  was  trying  to  please  her 
with  flattery  of  her  father,  she  would  have  drunk  it  in  almost 
as  eagerly.  Her  father  was  her  idol.  And  praise  of  him, 
even  from  coarser  men  than  the  Captain,  was  nothing  new 
to  her.  There  might  be  people  who  envied  or  disliked  him 
as  a  "  rustycrat,"  but  she  had  never  met  them ;  she  had  been 
surrounded  from  infancy  by  an  atmosphere  of  affection  and 
regard  for  him  which  had  impressed  her  with  the  feeling 


22  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

that  he  was  a  kind  of  human  pivot  upon  which  everything 
turned. 

He  was,  in  fact,  as  Reeve  had  said  to  his  son,  a  local 
autocrat,  and  as  it  happened,  a  popular  one.  As  the  head 
of  one  of  the  oldest  families  and  the  master  of  a  large  estate, 
he  would,  in  any  event,  have  wielded  great  influence.  For 
generations,  all  classes  had  deferred  to  the  owner  of  the 
Manor,  with  the  feeling,  originating  far  back  in  colonial 
times  when,  in  the  exercise  of  manorial  privileges,  he  had 
really  possessed  exclusive  authority  and  power,  that  he  was 
their  natural  leader  in  public  as  well  as  in  social  affairs. 
His  tenants  and  overseers,  as  well  as  the  small  farmers  of 
the  neighbourhood,  the  "  poor  whites,"  the  negroes — all 
looked  to  the  Colonel  for  guidance  and  help.  Even  those 
who  felt  that  their  individuality  and  liberty  of  action  were 
more  or  less  dominated  and  repressed,  found  it  difficult  to 
rid  themselves  of  a  sense  of  docility  towards  one  whom  they 
had  been  taught,  as  children,  to  respect. 

As  the  Colonel's  daughter,  Lydia  had  always  been  used 
to  treatment  which  had  naturally  given  her  a  keen  sense  of 
her  social  importance.  There  was  a  spice  of  haughtiness  in 
her  manner  to  those  who  seemed  inclined  to  be  presuming. 
It  vanished  quickly  with  the  cause  of  offence.  There  was 
but  one  individual  towards  whom  her  manner  was  always 
distant  and  repelling.  She  could  never  force  herself  to  be 
other  than  coldly  polite  to  her  father's  man  of  business — 
Lawyer  Reeve.  He  had  a  way  of  looking  at  her,  as  though 
he  would  be  familiar  -if  he  dared,  that  always  stirred  her 
with  a  sense  of  repugnance.  There  was  a  veiled  insolence 
in  his  manner  that  sometimes  caused  her  disquiet  and  even 
alarm.  What  could  it  mean  ?  She  could  not  fathom  it. 
All  she  knew  was  that  she  disliked  and  shrunk  from  him. 
She  fancied  it  was  because  he  was  such  a  "  common  "  man. 

Oswald  had  remained  close  at  hand  during  Lydia's  con- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  23 

versation  with  the  Captain.  He  had  no  intention  of  eaves 
dropping.  He  lingered  only  to  watch  the  play  of  animation 
on  her  mobile  face,  to  hear  the  soft  notes  of  her  fresh  young 
voice.  He  envied  the  Captain  the  flash  of  those  brilliant 
eyes,  the  roguish  smile  of  that  perfect  little  mouth,  the  flush 
of  rose  colour  his  praise  of  her  father  had  brought  into  her 
cheeks.  And  she  had  not  even  so  much  as  noticed  him. 
Not  once  had  her  glances  travelled  his  way.  He  actually 
felt  a  kind  of  jealousy  of  her  dog.  Happy  brute,  to  have 
felt  the  soft  caress  of  her  hand  !  Oswald  pulled  himself  to 
gether  with  an  exclamation  of  annoyance.  Was  he  a  mere 
callow  boy  to  be  thus  affected  by  a  pretty  face  ?  He  had  had 
any  number  of  affairs  with  women,  and  rather  plumed  him 
self  upon  being  unimpressionable.  All  the  same,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  strong  desire  to  meet  this  girl,  to  talk  with 
her,  to  discover,  if  he  could,  the  secret  of  her  extraordinary 
charm.  What  folly  !  Was  he  not  the  son  of  Lawyer  Reeve, 
her  father's  very  humble  servant  and  handy  tool  ?  The 
distance  between  them  was  not  immeasurable,  but  it  was 
great.  To  seek  association  with  her  was  to  court  the 
humiliations  he  dreaded.  A  mere  acquaintance  might  be 
easily  obtained,  but  beyond  that — nothing,  or  worse  than 
nothing,  the  galling  slights  which  the  least  presumption  on 
his  part  would  inevitably  bring  upon  him.  It  was  a  bitter 
thought. 

Turning  hastily,  he  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  deck, 
excited  by  a  conflict  of  feelings.  If  he  could  but  have  met 
her  somewhere  else,  under  other  conditions  !  If  only  she 
were  not  a  Cheston  and  he  not  a  Reeve  !  Yes,  he  might 
have  had  a  chance,  though  in  spite  of  uniform  success  with 
her  sex,  he  was  not  so  sure.  There  was  something  undefinable 
about  her  which  caused  him  an  unaccustomed  sense  of  tim 
idity,  of  doubt.  Was  it  merely  because  she  was  a  Cheston  ? 
For  the  first  time  in  his  varied  experience  of  women,  he  felt 


that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  power  with  which  he  might 
not  be  able  to  cope.  And  yet,  she  was  little  more  than  a 
child, — an  unformed  young  creature  who,  probably,  was 
still  at  school.  But  there  was  that  in  her  glance  that  might 
always  keep  him  in  check.  He  could  fancy  her  holding 
herself  above  him — superior,  scornful,  aloof. 

Pshaw  1  Why  bother  about  what  might  be  ?  She  was  as 
far  away  from  him  as  the  moon.  One  could  see  at  a  glance 
that  she  was  a  perfect  specimen  of  her  class.  All  its  preju 
dices,  doubtless,  were  ingrained  in  her.  And  even  if  he 
could  establish  some  claim  to  her  regard,  there  was  her 
father  to  be  reckoned  with,  and  beyond  him,  the  rigours  of  a 
caste.  No,  his  common  sense  told  him  it  were  better  if  he 
never  met  her  at  all.  None  the  less,  he  felt  it  would  be  a 
privilege  merely  to  hear  a  word  of  greeting  from  her,  to 
meet,  if  but  once,  the  gaze  of  those  eyes. 

Almost  before  he  knew  it,  the  thing  had  happened.  A 
sudden  cry  caused  him  to  look  round.  Lydia  had  left  the 
wheel-house,  and  was  bending  over  the  guard-rail,  gazing 
down  into  the  bow.  Oswald  hurried  forward,  and  following 
the  direction  of  her  glances,  beheld  her  setter  tearing 
viciously  at  a  boy  who  was  floundering  on  the  deck  below, 
near  the  heels  of  a  huge  Durham  bull.  The  latter,  tied  by  the 
horns  to  a  cross-beam,  Was  writhing  and  bellowing  madly. 
Lydia  called  sharply  to  Rover,  but  he  took  no  heed.  In  his 
fury,  he  thought  only  of  throttling  his  prey.  The  boy,  wild 
with  terror,  was  yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  Lydia  began 
to  be  alarmed.  Rover  was  fierce  when  roused,  and  he 
might  maim  the  boy  or  even  kill  him.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation,  she  turned  and  hastened  towards  the  companion- 
way,  fearful  lest  she  should  not  reach  the  scene  in  time  to 
pull  Rover  off  before  he  had  inflicted  some  grievous  hurt. 
Oswald,  following,  caught  up  with  her  and  raised  his  hat. 

"  May  I  help  you  ?  "  he  asked. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  25 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  frankly, 
but  in  some  surprise.  She  had  not  been  conscious  of  his  pres 
ence  near  her.  Evidently,  he  knew  what  had  occurred. 
"  My  dog  seems  to  be  beside  himself.  I  can't  imagine  what 
the  boy  could  have  done  to  him." 

A  moment  later,  they  had  reached  the  lower  deck  and 
were  threading  their  way  through  a  dark,  narrow  passage 
toward  the-  bow.  Lydia  had  taken  the  lead  and  moved  so 
rapidly  that  she  was  several  paces  in  advance  of  Oswald.  She 
had  just  descended  the  steps  passing  over  the  shaft  when 
Oswald,  glancing  ahead  of  her,  saw,  barring  her  path,  the  huge 
bulk  of  the  bull.  The  brute  had  broken  his  fastenings  and 
dashed  into  the  passage.  The  glare  from  the  furnace  pit 
had  checked  him  for  a  moment.  Frightened  by  it,  he  stood 
irresolute,  his  eyes  gleaming  fiercely,  his  mouth  a  lather  of 
foam.  Emerging  from  the  obscurity  of  the  passage,  Lydia 
was  revealed  to  him  suddenly  in  the  bright  red  glow.  She  was 
still  advancing  at  the  same  quick  gait,  when  the  bull,  with  a 
snort  of  rage,  tossed  his  head  and  bent  low,  as  if  about  to 
charge  upon  her.  Oswald  gave  a  cry  of  alarm  and  called 
to  her  to  stop.  She  checked  herself  instantly,  and  seeing 
the  bull  for  the  first  time,  stood,  rigid,  uncertain  what  to  do. 

Oswald  noticed  an  open  door  to  the  right  of  her. 

"  This  way  1  "  he  cried,  desperately,  as  he  reached  her 
side.  "  Quick !  " 

She  turned  instinctively  towards  him.  As  she  did  so,  the 
bull  gave  a  leap  forward.  Oswald  did  not  wait  to  ask  leave, 
but,  seizing  her  about  the  waist,  thrust  her  swiftly  into  a  room 
used  for  stowing  small  articles  of  freight.  Fortunately,  it 
was  empty.  They  had  barely  crossed  the  threshold,  when 
the  bull  dashed  by.  An  instant  later,  there  was  a  loud  crash, 
followed  by  shrieks  of  terror  in  the  saloon.  Lydia  shivered, 
but  Oswald  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief.  He  cared  not  what 
happened  there.  Thank  God,  she  was  safe  1  But  for  him, 


26  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

she  might  now  have  been  at  the  maddened  beast's  mercy,  to 
be  tossed  upon  his  horns  or  trampled  under  his  ponderous 
hoofs.  At  this  thought,  he,  also,  shivered.  Was  it  provi 
dence  or  mere  blind  chance  that  had  brought  him  to  her 
just  in  time  ?  Him  of  all  men  ?  At  any  rate,  it  was  a  happy 
accident,  for  which  he  blessed  his  lucky  star. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  ?  "  she  asked  softly,  glancing  at 
him  with  startled  eyes  in  which  her  native  courage  was 
struggling  to  reassert  itself.  "  And  who  am  I  to  thank  ?  " 
There  was  a  note  of  humor  in  her  voice  as  she  asked  the 
question.  It  seemed  whimsical  to  her  that  he  had,  perhaps, 
saved  her  life  and  she  did  not  even  know  him. 

Oswald  winced ;  the  question  hurt  him.  It  brought  him 
suddenly  back  to  the  chill  reality  of  his  position.  Must  he 
tell  her,  now,  in  the  first  moment  of  their  meeting,  in  the 
first  glow  of  her  gratitude  to  him  ? 

"  I  am  Lydia  Cheston,"  she  added  quickly,  without  noticing 
his  hesitation.  "  You  may  have  heard  of  my  father,  Colonel 
Cheston." 

"  Yes,  often,"  said  Oswald  in  a  stifled  voice,  a  humming  in 
his  ears.  He  had  quite  lost  his  self-possession.  All  his 
usual  ease  and  confidence  had  vanished.  A  dozen  silly 
speeches  rushed  to  his  lips,  but  he  said  nothing.  There  was 
but  one  thing  to  be  said.  He  must  tell  her  he  was  his  father's 
son.  But  might  not  there  be  some  way  of  telling  her  that 
would  disarm  or  mitigate  her  feeling  ?  Of  course,  she  could 
think  only  meanly  of  him  when  she  knew.  No ;  his  ingenu 
ity  in  coining  phrases,  which  had  so  often  enabled  him  to 
extricate  himself  from  false  positions,  was  of  no  use  here. 
There  was  no  form  of  words  that  would  hide  the  bald  truth 
from  her.  She  knew  his  father,  and  on  the  instant,  would 
stab  him  with  a  keen  glance  of  recognition  of  the  social  dif 
ference  between  them.  Well,  the  sooner  it  were  over  with, 
the  better. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  27 

"  I  am  Oswald  Reeve,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  think  you  know 
my  father — he  is  often  at  the  Manor." 

Lydia  gave  a  little  gasp  of  surprise,  and  gazed  at  him 
questionirigly  ;  she  was  really  not  sure  she  had  heard  aright. 
Lawyer  Reeve's  son  ?  Why,  he  seemed  to  be  a  gentleman  ! 
At  the  first  glance,  she  had  felt  quite  sure  as  to  that.  But 
stop !  there  was  a  story  that  Reeve  had  the  curious  whim  of 
making  a  gentleman  of  his  son.  She  remembered  now.  It 
had  once  or  twice  been  a  subject  of  amused  discussion  at 
the  Manor  and  of  speculation  as  to  the  ultimate  result.  And 
in  a  recent  letter  from  home,  something  was  said  of  young 
Reeve's  expected  return  from  Europe  after  an  absence  of 
several  years.  Yes,  it  must  be.  Young  as  she  was,  she 
divined  his  embarrassment,  and  pitied  him.  Her  pride  of 
class  was  intense,  but  her  generosity  was  stronger.  She 
thought  only  of  his  mortification  at  having  had  to  confess 
himself  to  her,  and  of  what  she  owed  him. 

She  offered  him  her  hand,  rather  shyly,  as  if  she  were  not 
quite  sure  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do,  and  said,  with  a  smile 
of  winning  friendliness  it  was  impossible  to  doubt, 

"  Yes,  I  know  your  father ;  Papa  thinks  a  great  deal  of 
him.  When  he  learns  what  you  have  done  for  me,  he  will 
hasten  to  thank  you.  I'm  sure  he  won't  be  able  to  do  enough 
for  you." 

Oswald  breathed  more  freely.  Her  words  and  the  tone  in 
which  they  were  uttered  brightened  the  prospect  wonderfully. 
It  seemed  to  him  they  were  intended  to  reassure  him,  to 
promise  him  considerate  treatment  at  her  father's  hands. 
At  least,  it  was  evident  she  meant  to  be  kind.  There  was 
no  trace  of  condescension  in  her  manner.  Whatever  her 
thoughts  might  be,  she  had  no  idea  of  showing  him  the  least 
discourtesy.  Her  attitude  placed  him  at  once  upon  an  equal 
footing.  He  knew  that  he  had  won  her  regard,  and  it  needed 
but  a  glance  at  her  earnest,  candid  eyes  to  convince  him 


28  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

that  it  was  a  feeling  which  might  even  stand  the  test  of  the 
social  prejudice  he  had  so  much  feared. 

"  Do  you  think  we  can  venture  out  ?  "  she  asked,  peering 
into  the  passage.  As  she  spoke,  she  saw  the  bull  being 
dragged  along  by  a  group  of  men  tugging  at  a  rope  about 
his  head,  while  others  goaded  him  in  the  flanks.  He  had 
been  secured  only  after  a  hard  struggle  in  which  chairs  and 
tables  had  been  overturned  amid  general  chaos  in  the  saloon. 
Women  had  fainted,  men  had  sworn  themselves  hoarse,  but 
no  one  had  been  hurt,  except  some  of  the  deck  hands  who 
had  rushed  to  the  rescue,  and  these  had  escaped  with  bruises 
and  a  grazing  scratch  or  two  from  the  animal's  horns.  Lydia 
and  Oswald  watched  the  bull's  slow  progress  towards  the  bow, 
and  when  the  procession  had  at  last  disappeared,  she  ex 
claimed  : 

"  Come,  Mr.  Reeve  ;  I  hope  the  boy  is  not  much  hurt." 

As  they  stepped  into  the  passage,  Rover  bounded  into 
view,  and  behind  him,  showed  the  grimy  face  of  the  boy. 
On  seeing  his  mistress,  Rover  crouched  to  the  ground  and 
crept  towards  her  with  a  shamefaced,  penitent  air. 

"  You  naughty  fellow  !  "  cried  Lydia.  "  What  have  you 
done  ? " 

"Jes'  chawed  me  orful,  thet's  all,"  exclaimed  a  sullen 
voice. 

Rover's  late  antagonist  was  following  close  in  his  wake, 
armed  with  a  heavy  club.  He  was  a  stolid-looking  urchin, 
clad  in  gray  kersey,  with  copper-tipped  shoes.  His  chubby 
face  was  smeared  with  blood  and  dirt ;  his  clothes  were  torn 
in  several  places.  He  ducked  his  tow  head  threateningly  at 
Rover,  and  brandished  his  club.  Evidently,  he  was  athirst 
for  revenge. 

"  Why  did  he  attack  you  ?  "  asked  Lydia,  relieved  to  find 
he  had  suffered  no  serious  harm. 

"  'Cos  he's  wicious — thet's  why.     I  wasn't  doin'  nothin' 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  29 

to  him.  I  seed  him  up  on  the  deck,  but  never  thought  he'd 
take  notice  o'  me." 

"  What  were  you  doing  ?  "  asked  Lydia,  with  a  certain  per- 
emptoriness.  She  was  convinced  the  little  rascal  had  excited 
Rover's  wrath  in  some  way ;  he  was,  by  nature,  a  peaceable 
dog. 

"Onlyteasin'  the  bull,"  said  the  boy,  with  unblushing 
candour.  "  I  thought  I'd  have  a  little  fun  pokin'  him  with  a 
stick  en'  makin'  him  rare  en'  beller.  It  seemed  to  make  yo' 
dog  mad.  But  what  had  he  to  do  with  it  ?  It  wusn't  enny 
bizness  o'  his'n.  He  pounced  on  me  en'  nearly  tore  me 
up.  But  I  got  clare  uv  him  at  last  en'  meant  to  beat  him 
good." 

"  Oh,  you  did  ?  And  you  call  it  fun  to  worry  a  helpless 
animal  ?  "  There  was  indignation  in  her  voice,  and  her 
dark  eyes  sparkled  angrily.  "I'm  glad  Rover  punished  you. 
Did  he  really  bite  you  ?  " 

"  Bite  me !  *'  gasped  the  boy,  amazed  at  her  pretence  of 
incredulity,  "  ef  you  don't  believe  me,  I'll  show  you.  He  tuk  a 
piece  out'n  one  of  my  legs."  As  he  spoke,  he  stooped  to  roll 
up  his  trousers. 

"  Oh,  I  believe  you  !  "  said  Lydia,  hastily,  with  a  smoth 
ered  laugh. 

"  Thet  ain't  all,"  continued  the  complainant,  dolefully. 
"  He's  ruined  my  Sunday  suit.  I'm  in  fur  a  lickin'  when  I 
get  home.  Pap  said  he'd  thrash  me  good  ef  I  got  it  spiled." 

"  Really  ?  "  exclaimed  Lydia,  her  eyes  brimming  with  fun. 
"  That  would  be  too  hard.  Here's  something  to  help  you 
buy  new  clothes."  Diving  into  one  of  her  pockets,  she 
produced  several  silver  coins.  "  Perhaps  I  can  help  you 
about  the  '  licking,'  too.  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  In  Hornsby's  Neck." 

"Why,  that's  quite  near  my  home — the  Manor.  Tell 
your  father  Miss  Lydia  Cheston,  Colonel  Cheston's  daughter, 


30  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

said  she  would  be  greatly  obliged  to-him  if  he  wouldn't  thrash 
you  this  time." 

"  Oh  Lordy  1  "  exclaimed  the  boy,  aghast ;  "  I'm  in  fur  it, 
sho'.  Pap's  name  is  'Zekel  Giles — he's  one  of  yo'  par's  rent 
ers.  I  thought  I'd  seed  you  befo'.  He'll  feel  obleeged  to 
whale  me,  now,  fur  gettin'  into  a  muss  with  you." 

"  Not  if  he  knows  I  do  not  wish  it,"  she  asserted,  with  a 
confident  smile.  "  But  you  must  promise  not  to  be  so  cruel 
again." 

"  Cruel  ?  "  said  the  boy,  gazing  at  her  in  half-derisive  sur 
prise,  but  with  a  certain  rude  deference.  "  T'ain't  enny  harm 
ter  punch  a  bull.  They're  onnery  beasts,  en'  'ud  horn  you 
in  a  minnit." 

Lydia  turned  from  him  to  hide  her  amusement.  It  were 
idle  to  endeavour  to  proselytise  him.  A  bull,  in  his  eyes, 
was  lawful  game,  and  worrying  any  dangerous  beast  was  a 
perfectly  proper  pastime.  She  knew  the  type  of  coarse  coun 
try  humourists  so  well. 

"  If  you  like,  Mr.  Reeve,"  she  said,  "  we'll  go  on  deck. 
I'm  anxious  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  Manor  land 
mark — a  clump  of  tall  pines." 


CHAPTER  III 

WHEN  they  reached  the  deck,  they  found  it  shrouded  in 
fog.  The  sun  was  still  shining  overhead,  yet  all  about  the 
vessel  lay  darkness  so  dense  that  objects  could  not  be  dis 
tinguished  fifty  yards  away.  Every  few  seconds,  the  clang 
of  a  lighthouse  bell  and  the  screech  of  whistles  from  ves 
sels  creeping  carefully  along  alternated  with  the  deep- 
throated  roar  of  a  great  ocean  steamer  straight  ahead.  All 
at  once,  the  smokestack  and  masts  of  the  latter  loomed 
high  in  air,  and  then  sank  to  their  proper  level,  close  at 
hand.  The  yards  showed  vaguely  next,  and  then  the  deck, 
with  misty  shapes  upon  it,  and  finally,  the  long  black  hull, 
with  the  British  ensign  floating  red  and  blue  from  the  stern. 
A  few  fathoms  farther  on,  the  Severn  suddenly  glided  into 
open  space  again,  and  all  ahead  was  brilliantly  clear.  The 
Bay  was  dotted  with  sailing  craft  of  various  types,  from 
great  ships  to  mere  midges  of  canoes,  with  all  their  canvas 
bent.  Close  on  the  starboard  bow,  a  schooner  was  dashing 
along,  her  sails  vermilion  in  the  morning  sun.  The  Bay 
was  now  of  an  indigo  tint ;  the  sky  pale  blue,  flecked  with 
fleecy  clouds.  Far  away  to  the  left,  stretched  a  line  of 
shore  faint  violet  in  tone  ;  to  the  right,  a  dark  mass  of  woods 
above  which  rose  the  feathery  crowns  of  a  group  of  pines. 

Lydia's  face  grew  radiant  at  sight  of  them.  "  The  pines 
at  last !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  we  are  entering  the  river  1  " 

The  river,  like  most  of  the  tributaries  of  the  Chesapeake, 
was  very  broad  at  its  mouth,  and  for  some  distance  above  it. 
Its  banks  rose  gently  on  each  side  to  rolling  uplands,  broken 
by  valleys  and  ravines.  Forests  and  cleared  land  showed, 
like  colours  on  a  map,  in  tracts  of  varying  extent.  The 

3* 


32  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

fields  were  dappled  with  the  subdued  yet  strongly  contrasted 
tints  of  early  spring — the  chocolates,  grays,  faint  purples  of 
freshly  ploughed  mould ;  the  drabs  and  russets  of  pasture  and 
stubble  ;  the  velvety  green  of  wheat-fields,  and,  occasionally, 
the  soft  pink  of  a  peach  orchard  in  full  bloom.  Set  close  to 
the  water's  edge,  as  a  rule,  old  colonial  houses  gleamed,  red  or 
white  or  yellow,  among  clumps  of  budding  trees,  and  scattered 
near  them  were  the  hip-roofed  dwellings  of  tenants  or  over 
seers  ;  the  brick  or  wooden  "  quarters  "  of  the  slaves,  and 
more  remote  but  still  with  evident  relation  to  the  "  big  house," 
the  quaint  log  cabins,  plastered  over  with  clay,  of  negro  or 
"  poor  white  "  dependents  of  the  place. 

Rounding  a  headland,  the  steamer  came  in  sight  of  a  long 
wharf  jutting  out  from  the  base  of  a  green  bluff  down  which 
wound  a  road  white  with  oyster-shells  which,  by  long  usage, 
had  been  ground  into  dust.  On  the  crest  of  the  bluff  were 
perched  a  few  whitewashed  houses — the  homes  chiefly  of 
fishermen — shaded  by  large  weeping  willows  and  elms.  The 
wharf  was  black  with  people.  The  whole  countryside  was 
in  a  ferment  over  the  outbreak  of  hostilities  between  the  two 
great  sections  of  the  country — the  North  and  the  South — 
and  there  was  eager  curiosity  to  hear  the  news  the  steamer 
would  bring  from  Baltimore.  Fort  Sumter  had  fallen  but  a 
few  days  before;  something  even  more  momentous  might 
happen  at  any  time.  People  had  flocked  to  the  wharf  from 
many  miles  around. 

The  tidings  brought  by  the  steamer  were,  indeed,  of  serious 
import.  On  the  previous  day — the  igth  of  April,  1861 — 
there  had  been  a  riot  in  Baltimore  caused  by  the  passage 
through  the  city  of  detachments  of  Northern  troops  on  their 
way  to  Washington.  The  first  blood  of  the  struggle  had 
been  spilled.  What  would  happen  next,  no  one  could  fore 
tell.  For  the  present,  the  way  was  blocked  to  the  passage  of 
the  Union  forces.  The  Secessionist  element  in  Baltimore 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  33 

was  flushed  with   triumph.     The  withdrawal  of  Maryland 
from  the  Union  seemed  almost  assured. 

Throughout  the  Tidewater  region,  the  sympathy  with  the 
seceding  states  was  intense.  Secession  had  not  been  pop 
ular  there,  but  the  impression  had  got  abroad,  that  an  at 
tempt  was  being  made  to  coerce  the  South  by  force  of  arms. 
This  idea  roused  the  passions  of  the  slaveholding  commu 
nities.  Their  interests  were  thought  to  be  identified  with 
those  of  the  states  that  had  "  gone  out."  The  example  of 
Virginia  appealed  most  strongly  to  her  neighbours  across  the 
Potomac,  and  along  the  shores  of  Chesapeake  Bay.  The 
Tidewater  regions  of  the  two  states  were  knit  close  together 
by  long  association  and  intercourse  and  the  similarity  of 
their  economic  and  social  institutions.  The  planters  in 
each  had  much  in  common,  and  were  animated  by  substan 
tially  the  same  ideas.  They  had  stood  together  from  early 
times.  As  colonists,  they  had  stubbornly  resisted  the  at 
tempts  of  Cromwell's  commissioners  to  reduce  the  two 
"  plantations  "  as  hot-beds  of  malignants.  In  the  Revolution, 
they  had  fought  side  by  side,  with  equal  valour,  on  many  a 
bloody  field.  The  instinct  of  habit,  of  kinship,  of  traditional 
intimacy,  as  well  as  of  self-preservation,  naturally  impelled  a 
people  who  regarded  slavery  as  the  keystone  of  their  social 
fabric  and  their  Virginia  neighbours  as  their  natural  allies  to 
make  common  cause  against  a  foe  that  seemed  to  threaten 
both. 

Lydia  was  in  a  fever  of  impatience  as  the  Severn  crept, 
like  a  snail,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  towards  the  wharf.  When, 
at  last,  she  was  near  enough  to  scan  the  upturned  faces,  she 
leaned  over  the  guard-rail,  passing  each  in  quick  review 
in  the  hope  of  discovering  someone  from  the  Manor.  Os 
wald,  standing  close  at  her  side,  amused  himself  by  noting 
the  different  types  in  the  motley  gathering.  They  were  all 
there,  it  seemed  to  him,  as  he  recalled  the  various  impres- 
3 


34  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

sions  of  his  boyhood — the  dapper  swell  of  the  plantation  in  rid. 
ing  suit  of  velveteen  or  corduroy ;  the  "  genteel  "  lawyer  or 
doctor  in  professional  black;  the  affable  tradesman  from 
the  county  town  in  more  or  less  seedy  garb ;  the  loutish 
overseer  or  tenant  in  gray  kersey  ;  the  "  poor  white, "a  thing 
of  shreds  and  patches,  and  finally  the  negroes,  slave  and 
free,  young  and  old,  of  both  sexes  and  of  all  conditions,  from 
the  spruce  "  body  servant  "  or  coachman  of  some  wealthy 
planter,  and  the  comfortable-looking  old  "aunty  "  in  a  linsey- 
woolsey  gown  of  blue  and  yellow  and  gaudy  turban  of  many 
colours,  to  nondescript  loungers  and  laughing  pickaninnies. 
These  last,  bareheaded  and  barefooted,  bright-eyed  and 
eager  for  mischief  or  a  chance  of  earning  a  penny,  were 
dodging  in  and  out  among  the  throng,  or  sat,  basking  in  the 
sun,  along  the  edges  of  the  wharf,  their  legs  dangling  over 
the  side. 

Lydia  was  about  to  turn  away,  disappointed,  when  her 
face  suddenly  lit  up  and  she  gave  a  low  cry  of  satisfaction. 

"  Uncle  Caesar !  "  she  exclaimed,  stretching  eagerly  for 
ward. 

An  old  negro,  who  was  standing  near  a  pile  at  a  corner 
of  the  wharf,  glanced  up,  and  doffing  a  huge  hat  of  white 
felt,  made  her  a  low  bow.  He  was  an  imposing  figure — 
very  tall,  very  black,  with  regular  features  and  a  clean 
shaven  face  projecting  from  a  portentous  collar  about  which 
was  wound  a  somewhat  threadbare  cravat  of  black  silk.  He 
held  himself  very  stiff,  with  a  grave  dignity  of  manner  which 
discouraged  familiarity.  One  could  see,  at  a  glance,  that  he 
considered  himself  a  person  of  assured  standing  and  impor 
tance. 

"  Miss  Lydyer  1  "  he  exclaimed,  surprised  and  apparently 
somewhat  disconcerted.  "  Sobbun  (servant)  Miss." 

"  He's  the  gardener  at.  the  Manor,"  explained  Lydia  to 
Oswald,  laughing.  "  Isn't  he  formidable  ?  He's  the  only 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  35 

person  at  home  of  whom  I'm  afraid.  He  used  to  threaten 
me  with  a  huge  pair  of  shears  when  I  trampled  on  his  flower 
beds,  and  I've  never  quite  got  over  my  dread  of  him.  He 
was  the  overseer,  long  ago,  and  still  fancies  he's  a  power. 
Papa  says  it's  a  pity  to  disturb  his  illusion,  and  lets  him  do 
pretty  much  as  he  pleases.  He  quite  lords  it  over  me — as 
you  will  see." 

Oswald  was  disposed  to  doubt  this  ;  he  fancied  she  could 
hold  her  own  even  with  this  grim  old  fellow. 

Meanwhile,  Caesar  was  busy  speculating  as  to  the  cause 
of  the  unlooked-for  appearance  of  "  Young  Miss,"  as  the 
negroes  called  Lydia  to  distinguish  her  from  "  Ole  Miss," 
her  grandmother,  and  from  her  mother,  "Miss  Flo'r." 

"  What  she  doin'  on  de  boat,  I  wonder,"  he  muttered ;  "  she's 
got  no  bizness,  dah.  We  all  thought  her  safe  at  school  in 
Balt'mer.  Marstersaid,  only  dis  mornin',  she  wan't  comin' 
tell  de  fust  uv  June.  One  uv  her  mischeevous  tricks,  I'll 
be  boun'  1  " 

He  was  really  glad  to  see  her,  but  he  instinctively  re 
solved  to  give  no  indication  of  the  fact — if  he  could  help  it. 
Ever  since  she  had  been  big  enough  to  run  about,  he  had 
been  struggling  to  make  head  against  her.  In  spite  of  him 
self,  she  had  captivated  him,  but  he  was  too  stubborn  to 
make  an  open  submission.  He  even  sought  to  assert  his 
independence  at  times  by  finding  fault  with  and  scolding  her, 
but  the  subterfuge  was,  after  all,  a  hollow  sham  which  de 
ceived  neither  him  nor  her.  He  would  sulkily  have  let  her 
trample  on  him. 

"  How  did  ye  come  hyar  ? "  he  demanded,  gruffly,  as 
Lydia  turned  again  to  him,  "  I  hope  you  ain't  sick."  There 
was  a  touch  of  anxiety  in  his  voice  in  spite  of  his  effort  to 
appear  indifferent. 

"  No,  indeed !  "  she  answered  blithely.  "  And  all  at 
home  ? " 


36  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  'Bout  ez  uzuel.  Yo'  Mar's  kind  o'  po'ly — but  noways 
ill,"  he  added,  noting  a  quick  look  of  alarm  in  her  face  ;  "  jes' 
not  so  peart  ez  she  mought  be." 

"  You  came  in  the  carriage  ?  " 

Caesar  drew  himself  up  still  more  stiffly,  and  looked  em 
barrassed. 

"  No,  Miss — in  en  ox-kyart,"  he  answered  slowly,  with 
evident  unwillingness,  and  fidgeting  nervously  with  his  hat. 
He  was  sure  Young  Miss  would  tease  him  about  the  ox 
cart.  She  knew  what  a  "  come  down  "  it  was  for  him,  who 
considered  it  beneath  his  dignity  to  ride  abroad  except  on 
horseback  or  as  driver  of  Ole  Miss's  coach.  His  pride  was 
at  stake,  and  he  dreaded  her  laughter. 

"  Marster  axed  me  to  fotch  some  things  he  wuz  werry 
pertickler  about,"  he  explained,  with  an'air  of  importance 
that,  he  hoped,  might  impress  her.  "  He  didn't  want  ter 
trust  'em  to  keerless  han's." 

"  An  ox-cart !  "  cried  Lydia,  her  eyes  shining  with  mis 
chief.  "  That  would  be  such  fun.  You  can  find  room  for 
me,  Uncle  Caesar  ? " 

Caesar  glanced  at  her  with  an  air  of  stern  reproof.  This 
was  worse  than  being  made  game  of.  The  idea  of  Young 
Miss  being  seen  on  the  roads  in  such  a  "  common  "  con 
veyance  !  It  was  all  very  well  at  home — she  might  ride  in 
anything  there,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  tried  every 
species  of  locomotion  that  could  be  found  or  invented — but 
on  the  public  roads,  with  this  crowd  swarming  by  !  What 
had  come  over  her  ?  And  that  young  gentleman  standing 
beside  her — what  would  he  think  ?  Cassar  laid  even  greater 
store  by  the  family  dignity  than  by  his  own.  His  dignity, 
in  fact,  was  part  and  parcel  of  the  family  state.  "  Hit's  dat 
schoolin'  off  hyondah,"  was  his  instant  conclusion.  "I 
allers  said  hit  wouldn't  do  her  enny  good.  I  ain't  gwine 
ter  'low  enny  foolishness  like  dat." 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  37 

But  he  knew  very  well  he  would  be  helpless  to  prevent  it. 
He  had  had  many  a  bout  with  Young  Miss,  and  had  always 
been  quickly  routed;  she  either  coaxed  or  teased  him  into 
surly  compliance.  His  only  hope  lay  in  flight. 

"  I've  a  great  min'  to  drive  off  en'  leave  her,"  he  mut 
tered.  "  But  no,"  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  Marster 
would  rake  me  fur  lettin'  her  get  home  by  herself,  en'  she'd 
give  me  no  peace  fur  a  week  1  " 

He  glanced  appealingly  at  Oswald,  as  if  to  ask  him  to 
come  to  his  relief,  and  his  brow  cleared  as  he  heard  him  say 
to  Lydia: 

"  I've  no  doubt  I  can  find  you  a  carriage,  if  you  will  per 
mit  me." 

Caesar  gave  him  an  approving  nod.  He  would  not  have 
done  so  had  he  recognised  in  him  the  son  of  Lawyer  Reeve, 
whom  he  held  in  contempt  as  "  po'  trash,"  and  hated  be 
cause  he  had  been  instrumental  in  displacing  him  as  over 
seer.  But  he  did  not  dream  that  Oswald  was  in  the  least 
objectionable.  He  flattered  himself  as  to  his  ability  to  tell 
"  de  Quality  "  at  a  glance,  and  Oswald  seemed  to  him  to  be 
a  very  elegant  young  gentleman,  indeed.  Very  probably, 
he  was  an  acquaintance  Young  Miss  had  made  in  the  city 
or  perhaps,  a  friend  of  her  brother,  "  Marse  Turlo,"  on  his 
way  to  pay  a  visit  at  the  Manor. 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  said  Lydia  quickly,  to  Caesar's  keen 
disappointment,  "  I  shall  really  enjoy  the  ride  in  the  ox 
cart.  It's  something  I  haven't  done  for  months.  And  it 
will  be  so  amusing  to  watch  Uncle  Caesar.  Don't  you  see 
how  shocked  he  is  ?  It's  such  a  treat  to  tease  him  again. 
I'll  be  down  in  a  moment,  Uncle  Caesar,"  she  cried  to  the 
discomfited  old  man,  "  I'll  mind  the  oxen  while  you  get  the 
things  for  Papa." 

Caesar  smothered  an  oath  and  turned  away  in  disgust. 
Well,  if  she  would  do  it,  he  could  at  least  make  her  feel  his 


38  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

displeasure  on  the  way.  The  prospect  of  a  good  spell  of 
grumbling — and  there  was  no  keener  enjoyment  for  him — 
consoled  him  somewhat. 

As  Lydia  and  Oswald  left  the  steamer,  they  brushed  past 
a  tall  young  planter  who  was  in  the  act  of  going  on  board. 
Glancing  round  at  them,  he  halted  in  astonishment,  and  of 
fering  a  hand  to  each,  greeted  them  cordially  by  their  first 
names. 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  see  either  of  you  here  !  "  he  ex 
claimed. 

His  frank,  honest  gaze  rested  affectionately  upon  Lydia, 
and  then,  for  a  moment,  kindly  upon  Oswald,  but  shifted 
almost  instantly  to  Lydia  again.  Lydia  and  he  were  great 
friends.  Oswald,  years  ago,  had  been  his  prote'ge'  as  a  younger 
boy  at  college,  and  there  was  a  strong  bond  of  affection  be 
tween  them.  Oswald  was  glad  to  see  him  for  reasons  other 
than  their  college  intimacy.  Basil  Kent  belonged  to  the  class 
he  wished  to  enter.  He  had  been  very  kind  to  him  at  college, 
and  Oswald  hoped  he  might  be  even  kinder  here.  But  he 
was  not  sure.  Basil  might  have  changed,  and  they  were 
no  longer  at  college,  but  in  a  far  different  atmosphere. 

The  two  young  men  were  in  strong  contrast  as  they  stood 
facing  each  other.  Basil  Kent  was  dark  and  lean,  with 
bold,  rather  prominent,  features  and  a  somewhat  angular, 
strongly-built  frame.  He  had  none  of  Oswald's  grace  and 
ease  of  carriage.  His  manner,  though  self-possessed,  lacked 
finish.  Beside  Oswald's  fine  regularity  of  feature,  his  rug 
ged  face  was  almost  homely.  It  had,  however,  something 
that  Oswald's  countenance  lacked — the  stamp  of  power.  A 
keen  intelligence  gleamed  in  the  clear  gray  eyes  ;  the  square 
jaw  and  aquiline  profile  betokened  a  resolute  will.  The  im 
pression  one  received  was  that  of  restless  energy  held  well 
in  hand. 

Lydia  looked  upon  Basil  as  an  elder  brother,  much  closer 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  39 

to  her  in  sympathy,  far  more  to  be  relied  upon,  than  her  real 
brother,  Turlo,  who  was  but  a  careless  fellow.  He  lived 
with  his  father  on  a  plantation  adjoining  the  Manor,  and 
had  been  Lydia's  chosen  friend  and  confidant  since  she 
could  first  remember.  Her  earliest  impressions  were  of  a 
tall,  stalwart  lad  who  carried  her  about  on  his  shoulder, 
romped  with  her  in  the  garden  or  the  garret,  and  submit 
ted  meekly  to  all  her  whims.  It  was  he  who  had  taught  her 
to  ride,  to  sail  a  canoe.  Like  herself,  he  was  fond  of  out 
door  life.  There  was  the  kinship  between  them  of  an  ar 
dent  sympathy  with  nature.  She  loved  him  as  a  dear  com 
rade  who  was  always  ready  to  share  her  special  tastes,  whose 
greatest  pleasure  it  seemed  to  be  to  contribute  to  her  enjoy 
ment.  Her  eyes  shone  softly  as  she  returned  his  greeting. 
How  glad  she  was  he  happened  to  be  there  to  meet  her  I 


CHAPTER  IV 

BASIL  turned  back  and  accompanied  them  to  the  spot 
where  Uncle  Caesar  stood  waiting  in  an  attitude  of  rigid 
protest. 

"  What  brought  you  back  so  soon,  Lydia? "  he  asked. 

"  I  ran  away,"  she  said,  demurely,  "  I  couldn't  stand  it 
any  longer,  Basil.  Spring  had  come ;  the  trees  in  the 
streets  were  putting  out  their  leaves — poor,  half-starved 
things — and  I  thought  of  all  that  was  happening  at  the 
Manor.  Last  night,  I  lost  control  of  myself ;  I  felt  as  if  I 
had  a  fever ;  perhaps  I  had ;  at  any  rate,  I  had  but  one 
thought — to  get  away.  I  knew  if  I  spoke  to  Aunts,  there 
would  be  a  scene  ;  they  would  have  tried  to  detain  me ;  per 
haps  " — here  she  laughed  merrily — "  they  might  even  have 
ventured  to  lock  me  up  !  Poor  dears — imagine  their  horror 
when  they  came  down  to  breakfast  this  morning  to  find  me 
gone  1  But  I  left  them  a  note  explaining  I  was  on  my  way 
home.  It  was  easy  to  slip  out  of  the  house  and  make  my 
way  to  the  steamer,  with  Rover  for  my  protector.  I  thought 
I  had  reached  the  wharf  only  just  in  time,  but  there  was  a 
riot  in  Baltimore  yesterday,  and  the  Severn  was  delayed  un 
til  this  morning.  Captain  Grimes  gave  me  a  stateroom,  and 
old  Eliza,  the  chambermaid,  slept  outside  my  door,  so  I  was 
safe  enough.  Now,  don't  say  a  word.  I  know  what  you 
think.  Yes,  I  was  inconsiderate  of  Aunts,  and  rash  and  all 
that,  but  if  you  had  felt  as  I  did,  you'd  have  done  the  same. 
Don't  tell  me  you  wouldn't ;  I'm  not  to  blame  for  breaking 
out  of  jail." 

"  I  don't  blame  you,"  said  Basil,  smiling. 

Blame  her  ?  How  could  he,  or  how  could  anyone  who 
.  40 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  41 

knew  her  ?  Until  her  departure  for  Baltimore  in  the  pre 
vious  autumn,  she  had  led  a  life  of  such  freedom  at  the 
Manor  that  Basil  had  feared  that,  in  the  city,  with  its  unac 
customed  confinement,  its  petty  restraints,  she  would  fret 
like  a  bird  beating  its  wings  against  a  cage.  Her  father,  her 
mother,  her  grandmother  had  shared  his  apprehensions. 
They  had  permitted  her  to  develop  naturally,  with  only  such 
training  as  their  ideas  of  propriety  demanded,  and  found 
delight  in  her  overflowing  vitality,  her  freedom  from  affec 
tations,  her  proud  self-reliance.  "  She  is  no  hothouse 
plant,"  Ole  Miss  had  once  exclaimed,  with  a  keen  sense  of 
sympathy,  for  she,  in  her  girlhood,  had  been  quite  as  inde 
pendent  and  high-strung,  and  she  wished  Lydia  to  grow  up 
as  strong  and  vigorous  and  as  free  from  the  little  weaknesses 
of  her  sex  as  her  own  capable  womanhood  had  proved  to 
be.  When  members  of  the  family  suggested  that  Lydia 
was  being  "  spoiled "  by  too  much  indulgence,  her  tart 
answer  was,  "  Pshaw !  let  her  be ;  there  is  plenty  of  time 
yet  to  prune  her.  It  is  you  who  would  spoil  her  if  you 
tried  to  bend  her  to  your  ways.  There  is  no  harm  in  her, 
and  life  will  tame  her  soon  enough." 

As  she  grew  towards  womanhood,  however,  it  had  been 
deemed  expedient  that  Lydia  should  receive  some  final 
touches  to  the  education  obtained  from  an  English  governess, 
and  Ole  Miss  had  consented  reluctantly  to  the  urging  of  her 
two  maiden  daughters  in  Baltimore  that  Lydia  should  spend 
a  winter  with  them  in  order  to  attend  a  school  which  they 
recommended.  Basil  knew  them  well — those  aunts.  They 
were  prim  old  maids  whose  establishment  was  a  model  of 
neatness  and  decorum.  They  had  chosen  to  live  in  Balti 
more,  on  annuities  from  the  Manor,  because  they  disliked 
the  inconveniences  of  country  life.  What  they  loved  was 
snug  corners,  a  quiet  routine,  and  the  mild  distractions  of 
regular  "  church  work."  Ole  Miss  often  thought  of  them 


42  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

with  a  kind  of  dismay.  They  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  rest  of  the  family,  including  herself.  She  was  a  Cheston 
by  birth  as  well  as  by  marriage,  a  cousin  of  her  late  husband, 
the  Judge,  and  her  daughters  should  have  had  a  double 
share  of  the  family  spirit,  which  was  hardy,  resolute,  with  a 
dash  of  lawlessness  in  it.  How  did  it  happen  that  they 
were  such  timid,  order-loving  creatures  ?  Really,  they  were 
scarcely  safe  associates  for  her  granddaughter!  The  old 
lady  actually  felt  a  half-humorous  sense  of  apprehension  lest 
they  should  inoculate  Lydia  with  their  mischievously  tepid 
ideas  and  even  make  a  proselyte  of  her.  Basil  had  been  a 
frequent  visitor  at  their  house  and  had  always  felt  a  sense  of 
oppression  in  the  little  bandbox  of  a  place,  on  a  narrow,  re 
tired  street.  He  had  often  itched  to  pull  a  chair  or  a  table 
from  its  place,  and  create  some  human  disorder  that  would 
give  it  a  habitable  look.  No  wonder  Lydia  thought  it  a  jail. 
He  marvelled  she  had  endured  it  as  long  as  she  had  done. 
No,  he  could  not  blame  her  for  yielding  to  a  sudden  im 
pulse  and  breaking  away,  but  what  a  risk  she  had  run  I 
Her  route  to  the  steamer,  at  night,  passed  over  the  scene  of 
the  riot  of  a  few  hours  before,  the  details  of  which  he  had 
just  heard.  Thank  Heaven,  she  had  escaped  unharmed  by 
any  of  the  remnants  of  the  mob.  Apparently,  she  had  not 
been  molested  at  all ;  it  was  evident  she  had  no  idea  of  the 
danger  of  her  adventure. 

"  I  came  in  my  canoe,"  he  said.  "  Will  you  go  back  with 
me  ?  There's  a  good  breeze ;  we  can  reach  the  Manor  in 
half  an  hour." 

"  Of  course  !  "  cried  Lydia,  delighted. 

Old  Caesar  gave  a  low  chuckle. 

"  Dat  fotch  her,"  he  exclaimed  under  his  breath  ;  "  en  ox- 
kyart's  nuthin'  to  a  cunner  wid  her.  Dat  gives  her  wings, 
en'  she'd  allers  like  to  be  flyin'.  Bless  God  furbringin' 
Marse  Basil  in  de  nick  o'  time  !  " 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  43 

"  You  needn't  wait,  Uncle  Caesar,"  she  said,  turning 
to  him  with  a  mock  air  of  regret,  "  I'm  so  sorry  to  disap 
point  you,  but  we'll  have  the  ox-cart  some  other  day." 

"  Not  ef  I  kin  holp  it,"  he  muttered,  marching  off 
promptly  for  fear  she  might  change  her  mind. 

"  Excuse  me  a  minute,"  said  Basil,  "  I  must  speak  to 
Captain  Grimes.  You're  not  going  yet,  Oswald  ?  " 

"  No  ;  if  I  may  wait,"  answered  Oswald,  with  a  glance  at 
Lydia.  He  was  grateful  to  Basil  for  his  implied  suggestion  ; 
it  seemed  to  him  to  indicate  that  Basil  found  nothing  strange 
in  his  association  with  Colonel  Cheston's  daughter.  Lydia 
turned  to  him  when  Basil  had  gone,  and  began  to  chat  gaily 
of  the  people  about  them. 

"  It's  so  good  to  see  them  all  once  more,  Mr.  Reeve," 
she  exclaimed.  "  I  know  most  of  the  faces ;  even  people  I 
never  spoke  to  seem  like  old  friends.  It  is  so  different  in 
a  large  city,  where  you  meet  only  strangers ;  I  was  dread 
fully  lonesome  there." 

Oswald  found  her  trifling  confidences  delightful,  but  he 
was  ill  at  ease.  At  any  moment,  his  father  might  appear. 
It  was  a  craven  fear,  he  told  himself,  but  he  could  imagine 
the  curve  of  Lydia's  haughty  mouth  at  sight  of  him,  and  he 
hoped  this  would  be  spared  him.  Would  his  father  have  the 
good  sense  to  keep  out  of  the  way  ?  He  was  greatly  relieved 
when  Basil  returned,  and  there  was  still  no  sign  of  the  figure 
in  shiny  black. 

Oswald  was  mistaken  in  assuming  that  Basil  accepted  his 
presence  with  Lydia  without  question.  He  had  been  puz 
zled  from  the  first.  As  he  now  drew  near,  he  glanced  at 
them  curiously.  How  had  it  happened  that  they  had  met  ? 
What  would  the  Colonel  say  ?  They  seemed  to  be  on  very 
good  terms  ;  would  the  friendship  extend  beyond  the  doors 
of  the  Manor  ?  Basil  knew  the  nature  of  the  Colonel's  feel 
ings  towards  Oswald's  father.  Unconsciously,  perhaps,  he 


44  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

showed  his  negligent  regard  of  him  more  plainly  than  was 
considerate.  It  had  probably  never  occurred  to  him  that 
Reeve  expected  or  desired  any  different  treatment.  His 
social  aspirations  were  known  to  everybody,  but  the  Colonel 
had  never  taken  them  seriously ;  certainly,  he  could  not  be 
expected  to  receive  as  his  equal  the  son  of  his  father's 
overseer  I 

Basil  felt  a  keen  sympathy  for  Oswald  ;  there  might  be 
rough  trials  ahead  for  him.  It  was  all  absurd,  of  course, 
this  pride  of  caste,  where  a  well-bred,  attractive  young  fel 
low  like  Oswald  was  in  question,  but  precisely  because  there 
was  no  reason  in  it,  it  would  be  all  the  harder  to  combat. 
And  liberal-minded  though  he  was,  he,  himself,  felt  a 
thrill  of  repugnance  at  the  thought  of  Lydia  associating 
with  the  son  of  "  Lawyer  Reeve,"  even  though  he  had  found 
him  a  charming  lad  at  college  and  beheld  in  him,  now,  a 
fine,  manly  fellow  with  a  grace  of  manner  which  he  sorely 
envied.  Had  it  been  any  one  but  Lydia,  would  he  have 
cared  ?  He  told  himself  he  was  not  exempt  from  the  class 
prejudice  he  condemned  in  others,  but,  perhaps,  it  was  merely 
a  twinge  of  jealousy  of  which,  as  yet,  he  was  unconscious. 
He  was  more  sensitive  than  he  knew,  where  Lydia  was  con 
cerned. 

"  I'm  ready,  Lydia,"  he  said,  moving  to  one  side  of  the 
wharf  where  his  canoe  lay  moored.  Leaping  down  into  the 
bow,  he  began  to  unfurl  the  sail.  'There  was  a  rickety 
ladder  reaching  from  the  edge  of  the  wharf  to  the  stern,  and 
Oswald,  going  first,  offered  Lydia  his  hand.  When  she  had 
descended,  he  stood  ready  to  push  off  the  long,  slender  craft, 
sharp  at  each  end,  and  lying  in  the  water  as  light  as  a  cork. 
Crouching  on  the  wharf,  lay  Rover,  gazing  down  at  his 
mistress  with  anxious  eyes,  as  if  fearing  to  be  left  be 
hind. 

"  Now,  Rover !  "  said  Lydia,  with  a  gay  laugh. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  45 

The  setter  sprang  up  eagerly,  and  leaped  into  the  waist  at 
her  feet. 

"  Cast  off,  Oswald,"  cried  Basil,  easing  his  sheet  to  the 
wind. 

Oswald  gave  the  canoe  a  strong  push,  and  the  sail  catch 
ing  the  breeze,  she  darted  off  like  a  bird. 

"  Au  revoir,  Mr.  Reeve,"  Lydia  called  out  brightly,  with 
a  wave  of  her  hand. 

"  Au  revoir"  said  Oswald,  bowing. 

Was  it  really  au  revoir  or  farewell  ?  Would  he  ever  meet 
her  again  on  the  same  friendly  terms  ?  Ascending  to  the 
wharf,  he  watched  the  swiftly  receding  boat,  until  it  had  be 
come  a  mere  speck  upon  the  river.  He  had  had  a  glimpse 
of  romance ;  with  a  sigh,  he  turned  away  to  face  reality 
once  more.  As  he  did  so,  he  felt  a  touch  upon  his  shoulder. 
His  father  was  beside  him.  It  was  reality,  indeed  1 

"  I  kept  out  of  sight,"  said  Mr.  Reeve,  evidently  thinking 
he  had  done  something  highly  creditable,  and  confident  of 
his  son's  approval.  "  I  didn't  want  to  spoil  your  game,  my 
boy.  But  how  did  you  contrive  to  scrape  acquaintance  with 
her?  I  never  thought  you'd  manage  it  so  quickly." 

"  I  didn't  manage  it ;  "  answered  Oswald,  shortly,  "  it  was 
an  accident."  He  could  not  bear  to  discuss  Lydia  Cheston 
with  his  father.  But  he  was  not  un appreciative.  His  father 
had  acted  with  a  consideration  he  had  not  expected.  For 
his  sake,  he  had  effaced  himself.  It  were  too  much  to  ask 
of  him  that  he  contract  the  habit  of  doing  so,  but  his  con 
duct  was  distinctly  encouraging.  Oswald  began  to  hope 
they  might  get  on  together,  in  some  sort  of  fashion,  after  all 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  canoe  sped  along  before  a  stiff  side  wind.  Its  swift, 
buoyant  motion  sent  the  blood  tingling  through  Lydia's 
veins.  It  was  her  duty  to  steer,  while  Basil  shifted  sail. 
She  held  the  tiller  firmly,  with  a  keen  sense  of  power.  The 
capricious  little  craft  seemed  a  live  thing  under  her,  to 
be  watched  and  humoured,  lest  it  play  her  some  prank. 
Every  now  and  then,  it  shied  or  bounded  forward,  like  a 
mettlesome  colt. 

Basil  had  but  little  to  do  with  sheet  or  jib,  and  occupied 
himself  chiefly  with  watching  Lydia  as  she  sat,  flushed  and 
eager,  plying  him  with  questions  as  to  what  was  happening 
at  the  Manor.  It  was  interesting  to  note  the  changes  that 
six  months  had  wrought  in  her.  They  seemed  at  first  to  be 
but  slight.  Apparently,  she  was  the  same  bright,  laughing 
child  he  had  always  known.  But  as  he  studied  her,  he  saw 
that,  in  some  things,  she  was  different.  Her  delicate  features, 
for  example,  were  more  firmly  limned.  There  was  greater 
expressiveness  in  her  face,  a  new  light  in  her  eyes.  Her 
figure  showed  rounder,  more  graceful  lines.  It  was  as 
though  a  sketch  had  been  filled  in,  with  a  touch  here  and 
there,  so  that  now  it  was  a  picture  almost  finished.  She 
had  reached  the  boundaries  of  adolescence  ;  the  child  was 
becoming  a  woman. 

The  discovery  disturbed  him.  He  had  never  thought  of 
her  except  as  a  child.  She  loved  him  as  a  child,  with  no 
reserve,  no  scrutiny.  Her  affection  was  a  matter  of  habit. 
It  sprang  from  long  association  and  mutuality  of  tastes. 
What  would  happen  when  she  regarded  him  with  a  woman's 
eyes? 

46 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  47 

Basil  knew  very  well  that  he  was  not  a  favourite  with  her 
sex.  Most  women,  in  fact,  regarded  him  as  a  dull,  "  slow  " 
fellow.  He  was  reserved  and  rather  shy,  with  the  diffidence 
natural  to  a  serious  temperament.  He  had  been  a  close 
student  at  college,  and,  since  his  return  home,  had  been 
absorbed  in  the  management  of  his  father's  estate.  Uncon 
sciously,  he  had  grown  to  be  almost  as  much  of  a  recluse  as 
his  father,  a  book-worm,  who  seldom  stirred  from  home.  A 
natural  disinclination  for  society  gained  upon  him.  He 
gradually  became  impatient  of  its  demands.  Whatever 
drew  him  away  from  his  favourite  occupations  was  apt  to  be 
a  source  of  annoyance.  When,  by  any  chance,  he  found 
himself  in  a  company  of  young  people,  he  was  ill  at  ease. 
Women  found  it  difficult  to  make  him  talk.  It  was  rather 
aggravating  for  them,  because,  among  men,  he  had  the  rep 
utation  of  being  clever.  Conscious  of  his  social  inefficiency, 
he  made  strenuous  efforts,  now  and  then,  to  overcome  it, 
but  his  essays  seemed  to  him  to  be  absurdly  clumsy  and 
abortive.  He  often  envied  men,  whom  he  knew  to  be  fools, 
their  gift  of  light  and  amusing  small-talk.  He  was  embar 
rassed  by  a  queer  conscientiousness.  He  could  seldom 
bring  himself  to  say  a  thing  unless  it  seemed  worth  saying ; 
and  then,  it  always  sounded,  to  his  ears,  forced  and  stilted. 
He  usually  ended  by  hurrying  home  from  a  social  gathering 
with  a  keen  sense  of  relief. 

It  was  only  at  the  Manor  that  he  showed  himself  as  he 
really  was.  He  had  been  on  a  familiar  footing  there  since 
childhood,  and  talked  and  acted  as  freely  as  at  home, 
especially  when  Lydia  and  he  were  alone  together.  He  was 
never  at  a  loss  for  words  with  her.  They  had  always  had 
so  much  in  common.  There  was  even  a  deeper  note  in  the 
love  he  shared  with  her  for  the  fields  and  woods.  Lydia's 
feeling  was  merely  instinctive ;  his  had  been  broadened  and 
made  more  vivid  by  his  mode  of  life.  He  was  a  hard' 


48  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

working  fellow,  and  for  years,  had  carried  the  whole  burden 
of  his  father's  affairs  which,  at  one  time,  had  been  seriously 
compromised.  There  were  moments  when  it  was  delicious 
to  wander  idly  in  a  wood,  gradually  losing  all  sense  of  care. 
His  tired  mind  revived  in  keen  enjoyment  of  its  solitude,  its 
silence,  its  profound  repose.  He  drank  in  eagerly  the  pun 
gent  fragrance  of  the  pines,  the  fresh  smell  of  the  earth,  the 
perfume  of  the  honeysuckle,  or  of  wild  grape  or  cherry 
blossoms.  No  wood,  however  remote,  was  lonesome  for 
him.  The  stillness  grew  vocal  if  one  stepped  softly.  The 
chirp  of  crickets,  the  humming  of  bees,  the  warbling  or  the 
conversational  twitter  of  birds,  the  rustle  of  rabbit  or  fox  in 
the  undergrowth — all  spoke  to  him  of  a  companionship, 
shy  and  yet  familiar,  that  seemed  to  bring  him  into  com 
munion  with  Nature  in  her  truest  forms.  Life  was  all  about 
him,  yet  life  inarticulate,  subdued,  unobtrusive,  which  made 
no  demands  upon  him  and  harmonised  perfectly  with  his 
mood.  There  were  no  artificial  exactions  here ;  no  arbitrary 
standards  to  which  he  must  conform.  Life  in  the  woods 
was  natural,  free,  unrestrained.  The  birds  and  rabbits  and 
squirrels  commented  upon  him  among  themselves,  perhaps, 
but  their  criticisms  were  unintelligible  to  him  and  he  need 
not  care  if  they  found  him  dull. 

When  Lydia  shared  these  excursions,  his  pleasure  was 
of  a  different  sort  and  even  keener.  She  had  always  ex 
erted  a  strong  influence  over  him.  As  a  mere  child,  she 
had  had  the  power  of  drawing  him  out  of  himself,  of 
almost  making  another  man  of  him.  He  lost  his  self- 
consciousness,  his  sense  of  awkwardness  ;  it  was  as  though 
a  weight  had  been  lifted  from  him  and  he  was  free  to 
enjoy.  It  was  impossible  to  be  serious  with  her  or  in 
communicative.  It  was  only  when  others  shared  their  com 
panionship  that  he  relapsed  into  fits  of  taciturnity  and 
shyness,  and,  even  then,  she  often  coaxed  him  out  of  his 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  49 

reserve.  Her  power  was  greatest  when  they  wandered  to 
gether  over  the  country  on  horseback  or  afoot.  Then,  it 
seemed  to  him,  she  was  all  his  own.  Her  joyous  enthusiasm 
affected  him  with  a  refreshing  sense  of  the  brightness  and 
gaiety  and  buoyancy  of  life.  In  her  graceful  wildness,  her 
innocent  abandon,  she  seemed  a  perfect  creature  of  the 
woods.  At  times,  he  could  fancy  her  a  laughter-loving 
dryad,  who  had  fallen  asleep  long  ages  ago  and  had  suddenly 
wakened  into  life  again  to  lure  him  into  a  delightful 
paganism.  And  an  expedition  with  her  was  sure  to  have  its 
adventures  and  surprises.  She  loved  danger  for  its  own 
sake,  and  was  not  to  be  deterred  by  any  obstacles.  Many 
a  time,  he  had  risked  his  neck  or  taken  the  chance  of  broken 
bones  because  she  chose  to  attempt  some  hazardous  feat  or 
sheer  piece  of  folly.  When  she  got  into  trouble,  she  turned 
to  him  coolly  to  extricate  her,  in  perfect  confidence  that  he 
would  not  fail  her.  She  trusted  him  implicitly,  and  looked 
to  him  always  for  sympathy  and  help.  Whatever  others 
might  think  of  him,  she  never  thought  him  "  slow "  or 
dull. 

But  now  that  she  was  no  longer  a  child,  would  she  con 
tinue  to  be  blind  to  his  shortcomings  ?  Might  not  she,  too, 
come  to  weigh  him  by  the  ordinary  standards  of  her  sex  ? 
It  would  be  only  natural,  if,  as  a  woman,  she  asked  of  him 
what  he  feared  he  could  not  give,  the  ability  to  please,  to 
amuse,  to  jest,  among  other  people,  in  the  social  atmosphere 
that  always  chilled  him.  She  was  beautiful,  and  would  be 
admired  and  courted.  Their  old,  unrestricted  intimacy 
would  be  possible  no  longer.  At  the  thought,  a  fierce  de 
sire  to  keep  her  for  himself  thrilled  him  with  the  dawning 
sense  of  passion.  He  looked  at  her  again  and  understood. 
It  was  no  longer  the  child  in  her  that  he  loved,  but  the 
woman. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath,  startled.  She  was  very  lovely — 
4 


50  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

he  had  never  realised  how  lovely  before.  He  longed  to 
clasp  her  in  his  arms,  to  hold  her  close,  a  mutinous,  wild 
thing,  but  loving.  He  looked  hastily  away,  ashamed  of  what 
seemed  to  him  to  be  a  kind  of  intrusion  upon  her  innocence. 
Her  clear,  confiding  gaze  was  still  that  of  a  child.  Her  feel 
ing  for  him  was  evidently  as  unthinkingly  fond  and  trusting  as 
ever.  It  appealed  to  something  higher  than  ordinary  man 
hood  in  him.  He  must  hide  his  rash  desire  from  her.  She 
would  not  understand  it.  It  might  easily  offend  her,  and 
precipitate  the  estrangement  between  them  he  had  begun 
to  fear.  Thank  God,  he  was  strong !  He  had  long  been 
accustomed  to  control  himself.  What  he  willed  not  to  do. 
was  seldom  done.  It  seemed  easy  to  deny  himself  for  her 
sake.  He  had  not  reckoned,  as  yet,  with  the  tyranny  of  the 
feeling  which  was  but  just  stealing  over  him,  that  insidious 
force  which  confuses  the  clearest  brain  and  mocks  the  most 
stubborn  will.  He  would  not  have  been  so  confident  had 
he  ever  felt  the  full  power  of  her  sex. 

Suddenly,  Lydia  gave  a  start,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Isn't  that  arbutus  on  the  hillside  yonder  ?  " 

They  had  entered  a  narrow,  winding  cove,  with  high, 
wooded  banks  on  one  side  and  open  fields  on  the  other. 

"Yes,"  she  added,  as  she  looked  again,  "it  is,  really.  I 
feared  it  would  be  out  of  bloom.  How  nice  of  it  to  wait  for 
me!  Run  the  boat  in,  Basil;  I  must  pick  some." 

Basil  obediently  started  to  shift  the  sail,  but  before  he 
could  do  so,  she  had  changed  her  mind. 

"  No,  it  would  detain  us,  and  I  can't  lose  a  minute,  now. 
To-morrow,  the  first  thing  after  breakfast,  we'll  go  to  the 
Indian  Spring;  the  arbutus  is  always  so  plentiful  there." 

A  glimpse  of  the  Manor  house,  straight  ahead,  increased 
her  impatience,  but  they  were  still  a  mile  or  more  away. 
The  cove  wound  its  tortuous  course  into  the  very  heart  of 
the  plantation.  The  house  lay  on  high  ground  about  two 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  $i 

hundred  yards  from  its  banks,  partly  screened  by  evergreen 
hedges  and  trees. 

Lydla  guided  the  canoe  skilfully  through  the  sudden  turns 
and  past  the  sharp  angles  made  by  long  points  or  tongues 
of  land,  and,  finally,  brought  up  at  a  wharf  near  the  head  of 
the  cove.  It  was  a  rude  structure  of  logs  at  the  edge  of  a 
gravelled  path  that  led  up  a  steep  hill  to  a  grove  of  lofty  oaks. 
Without  pausing  for  Basil  to  make  fast,  she  sprang  out  as 
the  canoe  glided  alongside  the  wharf,  and  hastened  up  the 
path  to  the  top  of  the  bluff.  The  turf  beneath  the  oaks  was 
thickly  studded  with  wild  violets.  A  family  tradition 
asserted  that  the  parent  plants  had  been  brought  from  Eng 
land  by  the  immigrant  Chestons,  more  than  two  hundred 
years  before.  The  legend  found  some  corroboration  in  the 
fact  that  they  differed  from  their  scentless  cousins  of  the 
woods  in  having  a  fragrant  odour.  Lydia  plucked  a  handful 
of  the  blossoms,  and  then,  seating  herself  on  the  mossy 
roots  of  the  largest  oak,  she  inhaled  their  perfume  in  long, 
slow  draughts.  She  was  actually  at  home.  The  smell  of 
violets  made  vivid  this  fact.  She  glanced  about  her  with 
eager  eyes,  drinking  in  every  detail  of  the  scene. 

This  particular  spot  was  especially  dear  to  her.  With  it 
were  associated  some  of  her  earliest  impressions — impres 
sions  which  had  a  delightful  tinge  of  romance.  As  a  child, 
she  had  been  assured  by  her  old  negro  nurse  that  the  thickly- 
wooded  ridge  just  across  the  cove  was  haunted.  It  was  a 
weird  place,  with  several  gaunt  trees,  stripped  of  their  bark 
by  lightning,  which  stood  out,  white  and  naked,  from  the 
background  of  dark  green  cedars  and  pines.  Many  fallen 
giants  lay  rotting  along  the  high,  steep  bank.  Some  of 
these  were  easily  convertible  by  a  child's  imagination  into 
ogres  and  monsters  of  terrifying  shapes.  There  had  been  a 
time  when  Lydia  believed  it  quite  possible  for  them  to  rise 
in  all  their  great  bulk  and  height,  and  wade  across  the  cove 


52  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

to  devour  her.  Even  now,  she  felt  a  vague  thrill  at  the  re 
membrance  of  her  childish  terrors.  How  often  she  had  sat 
under  these  old  oaks  and  listened,  shuddering  yet  fascinated, 
to  negro  folk-lore  of  witchcraft  and  ghosts,  or  amused  and 
intensely  sympathetic,  to  the  tar-baby  and  rabbit  stories 
which  were  common  to  the  negroes  of  the  Tidewater  region 
and  may  have  drifted  gradually  southward,  to  give,  at  last,  a 
rich  fund  of  material  to  Uncle  Remus. 

And  there  was  another  attraction  in  the  spot.  The  bluff 
was  a  coign  of  vantage  from  which  she  could  survey  the 
greater  part  of  the  plantation.  In  whatever  direction  she 
looked,  she  had  a  glimpse  of  bits  of  landscape  which  re 
vived,  in  turn,  some  strong  impression.  Over  yonder, 
across  a  ravine,  stretched  a  field  in  the  middle  of  which  stood 
a  great  oak,  in  whose  top  a  family  of  fishing  hawks  had 
dwelt  ever  since  she  could  remember.  To  the  left,  lay  a 
dense  thicket  of  laurel  bushes,  which,  in  a  few  weeks,  would 
be  a  mass  of  pink  and  crimson  blossoms.  A  little  farther  on, 
a  tiny  stream  trickled  through  a  coppice  of  willows,  magnolias 
and  wild  rose  bushes,  to  the  cove.  This  was  a  favourite  haunt 
of  birds.  Here  she  had  often  sat,  quite  still,  listening  to  the 
carolling  of  various  warblers  and  watching  a  scarlet  tanager 
as  it  darted  from  bough  to  bough,  a  flash  of  flame.  Each 
spot  had  its  special  individuality  for  her.  There  were  certain 
trees  and  even  stones  which  she  regarded  as  her  particular 
friends.  The  dearest  of  them  all  was  the  splendid  old  oak 
against  whose  trunk  she  was  leaning.  It  was  so  strong,  so 
rugged,  so  unchanging.  With  a  sudden  impulse,  she  turned 
and  furtively  pressed  her  lips  to  its  bark. 

A  footstep  caused  her  to  look  round  guiltily,  but  it  was 
only  Basil.  He  would  understand. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  together,  they  started  towards 
the  house.  Rover  followed  close  behind  them,  having  been 
admonished  by  his  mistress  to  remain  "  at  heel."  She  wished 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  53 

to  take  the  household  by  surprise,  and,  if  anyone  saw  Rover 
scampering  ahead,  her  secret  would  be  out. 

Their  path  led  them,  first,  through  an  old  apple  orchard 
which  lay  at  the  rear  of  the  negro  "  Quarter  "  and  the  stables. 
Beyond  these,  ran  a  broad,  grassy  lane  separating  them  from 
the  grounds  about  the  "  big  house."  The  apple  trees  were 
in  bloom.  From  a  low  hanging  bough,  Lydia  plucked  a 
spray  of  pink  and  white  buds  and  fastened  it  at  her  throat. 
It  seemed  to  Basil  appropriate  to  her.  Its  delicate  tints 
were  not  purer  than  those  that  blended  in  her  cheeks.  She, 
too,  was  a  blossom  still  in  the  bud — a  human  blossom,  the 
very  incarnation  of  the  springtime  which  was  burgeoning 
all  about  them. 

"  We  must  avoid  the  Quarter,"  she  whispered,  laughing. 
"•  Someone  might  see  us,  and  run  ahead  to  the  house  and 
tell." 

They  stole  noiselessly  past  the  gable-end  next  the  path, 
screened  from  observation  by  a  hedge  of  cedar.  The  Quarter 
was  a  long,  low  building  of  brick,  shaded  by  mulberries  and 
locusts.  In  front  of  it,  a  group  of  negro  children  were  play 
ing  in  the  road.  They  did  not  look  up  as  Lydia  and  Basil 
slipped  by  and  then  descended  hastily  into  a  little  valley 
where  they  were  hidden  from  view.  This  valley  rose  grad 
ually  to  high  ground  again,  at  a  point  where  an  arched  gate 
way  opened  in  a  brick  wall  which  formed  the  lower  boundary 
of  the  rear  lawn  and  the  flower  garden.  The  wall  was 
thickly  clothed  with  ivy  which  hung  in  clusters  above  the 
gate. 

Basil  opened  the  gate  and  Lydia  passed  in.  She  paused 
a  moment  to  glance  about  her.  The  dear  old  garden — how 
trim  and  smart  it  looked  !  Uncle  Caesar  had  evidently  just 
completed  his  spring  work.  The  tall  hedges  of  cedar  and 
holly  had  been  freshly  clipped  and  the  single  evergreens 
reshaped  into  pyramids  and  cones.  The  turf  had  been  shorn 


54 

and  rolled  so  that  it  seemed  to  fit  like  a  carpet  of  green 
velvet  about  the  roots  of  the  trees  and  along  the  narrow 
"  borders  "  filled  with  old-fashioned  flowers. 

The  garden  was  a  spot  of  sweet  and  hallowed  associations 
for  the  imaginative  girl.  Not  only  had  it  been  her  play 
ground,  the  scene  of  delightful  romps  and  frolics  where  she 
had  often  hidden,  thrilling  with  mischievous  enjoyment,  in 
the  fragrant  depths  of  the  huge  box  trees,  but  it  was  also 
identified  with  many  a  romantic  story  of  the  Manor.  Here, 
generation  after  generation  of  her  family  had  laughed  and 
loved  and  dreamed.  She  could  easily  believe  the  tales  of 
the  negroes  of  ghostly  visitations  of  dead-and-gone  Chestons 
to  its  leafy  alleys.  Doubtless  they  loved  it  as  she  loved  it. 
Why  shouldn't  they  be  drawn  back  to  the  spot  ?  It  was 
pleasant,  though  eerie,  for  her  to  feel  that,  perhaps,  when 
she  wandered  here,  she  was  surrounded  by  their  sympathetic 
shades. 

But  she  was  too  impatient,  now,  to  linger  long,  and  turn 
ing  into  a  gravelled  path  between  rows  of  tall  pines  alternat 
ing  with  bushy  holly  trees,  she  hastened  towards  the  house. 
At  a  break  in  the  shrubbery,  she  came  upon  a  clear  view  of 
the  building. 

"  Just  a  moment,  Basil !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  halting,  she 
stood  gazing  with  moistened  eyes  at  the  gaunt,  weather- 
beaten  pile. 

The  Manor  house  was  very  old,  as  age  is  measured  in  this 
still  youthful  land  of  ours.  It  was  a  rambling  structure  of 
mottled  brick,  reddish  brown  and  gray,  arranged  in  checker, 
board  fashion,  with  large  verandahs,  their  roofs  supported  by 
stout  Doric  pillars,  at  front  and  rear.  The  gable-ends  were 
covered  with  ivy,  which  also  enveloped  the  chimneys  in  a 
mantle  of  lustrous  .green.  Climbing  roses  and  Virginia 
creeper  wandered  over  the  walls.  Great  lindens  and  elms 
swayed  their  branches  above  the  roof,  and  weeping  willows, 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  55 

Lombardy  poplars,  hickories  and  oaks,  all  of  them  of  large 
size,  were  scattered  about  the  grounds  which,  with  the  front 
lane,  must  have  covered  a  space  of  fifty  acres  or  more.  An 
avenue  of  spreading  elms  extended  from  the  front  verandah, 
shading  the  drive,  to  the  gate  which  opened  upon  the  public 
road,  a  distance  of  nearly  half  a  mile.  Their  branches,  in 
terlacing,  formed  an  almost  perfect  arch  the  whole  way. 
From  the  rear  verandah,  the  lawn,  lined  on  each  side  by 
Lombardy  poplars  planted  at  regular  distances  like  sentinels, 
descended  in  a  succession  of  terraces  to  the  garden  wall. 
Flanking  it,  were  the  flower-gardens,  divided  into  plots  by 
hedges  or  by  low  borders  of  box,  with  gravelled  paths  shaded 
by  a  variety  of  shrubbery  and  trees. 

About  the  whole  place,  there  was  an  atmosphere  of  settled 
tranquillity  and  repose.  There  were  many  such  places  in 
Tidewater  Maryland — a  fact,  in  itself,  indicative  of  a  firmly 
rooted  order  of  society  which  had  long  since  passed  through 
the  process  of  evolution  and  had  come  to  a  standstill,  well 
satisfied  to  rest. 

It  was  hard  for  Lydia  to  refrain  from  rushing  across  the 
lawn  by  the  nearest  cut,  but  mastering  the  impulse,  she 
turned  away  and  proceeded  up  the  avenue  of  pines.  A  few 
paces  farther  on,  the  sound  of  voices  in  conversation  again 
arrested  her  steps. 

"  I  hear  Papa !  "  she  cried,  and  leaving  the  path,  she 
started  impetuously  across  a  flower-bed,  trampling  a  fine 
plot  of  hyacinths  as  she  ran.  Breaking  through  a  hedge  of 
lilac  bushes,  she  came  upon  the  open  lawn.  Here,  beneath 
a  spreading  horse  chestnut,  sat  two  gentlemen  in  rustic  arm 
chairs,  smoking.  One  of  them  was  her  father ;  the  other, 
her  uncle,  Mr.  Josias  Plunkett.  The  pair  were  oddly  con 
trasted.  The  Colonel  was  a  large,  robust  man,  with  the 
glow  of  vigorous  health  in  his  ruddy  cheeks,  and  the  light 
of  a  wholesome,  genial  temper  in  his  kindly  brown  eyes. 


56  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Mr.  Plunkett  was  a  consequential  little  person,  with  self-im 
portance  written  plainly  on  his  pink-and-white  face,  clean 
shaven,  smug,  supercilious. 

Lydia  stole  upon  them  unobserved,  and  flung  her  arms 
about  her  father's  neck. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  cried  the  Colonel,  startled,  and  strug 
gling  to  his  feet.  "  You  little  scamp ; "  he  added,  de 
lightedly,  "  you  gave  me  a  fright.  What  are  you  doing 
here  ? " 

Lydia  raised  herself  on  tiptoe  to  kiss  him.  Her  father 
seized  her  by  the  shoulders  and  holding  her  off  at  arm's 
length,  gazed  down  at  her  in  tender  admiration.  She  was 
lovelier  than  ever. 

"  I  ran  away,  Papa,"  she  answered  at  last,  with  a  mock 
air  of  penitence. 

"  Ran  away !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It's  what  I  feared,  you 
rogue !  I  told  the  girls  they  wouldn't  be  able  to  keep  you." 

The  Colonel  still  called  his  sisters  "  the  girls,"  though 
they  were  verging  upon  fifty. 

"  They  did  their  best,  Papa,"  said  Lydia,  gaily,  "  but  I 
was  really  incorrigible.  They'll  give  me  up,  now,  as  a  hope 
less  case — that's  one  comfort.  I  shall  be  permitted  to  stay 
here  without  any  further  petitions  from  them.  No  doubt 
they'll  think  I'm  ungrateful,  but  I'm  not.  I  was  nearly 
wild — that's  the  truth.  If  I'd  stayed  another  day,  I  might 
have  done  something  dreadful  and  been  packed  off  in  dis 
grace.  It  was  very  discreet  in  me  to  run  away." 

"  Very,  indeed  1 "  laughed  her  father.  He  felt  he  ought 
to  scold  her  just  a  little,  but  how  could  he,  with  that  flower- 
like  face  looking  mischievously,  and  yet,  appealingly,  up  at 
him  ? 

"  Have  you  missed  me  very  much  ?  "  demanded  Lydia, 
with  a  quizzical  gleam  in  her  eyes.  As  if  there  could  be 
any  doubt  of  that  I 


57 

"Well — a  little,"  said  the  Colonel,  teasingly;  "the  house 
has  been  rather  dull — eh,  Josias  ?  " 

Mr.  Plunkett  nodded  shortly,  and  stepping  up  to  his  niece, 
greeted  her  with  a  dry  formality  in  which  there  was  little 
trace  of  affection.  Yes,  the  house  had  been  dull,  but  he 
liked  that  sort  of  dullness.  The  liveliness  caused  by  Lydia's 
presence  was  irritating  to  him.  There  was  an  old  feud  be 
tween  them.  A  precise,  order-loving  old  bachelor,  he  found 
only  causes  of  disturbance  and  offence  in  Lydia's  impetuos 
ity  of  spirit.  Ever  since  she  had  been  able  to  crawl,  she 
had  kept  him  in  a  state  of  constant  unrest  and  anxiety.  He 
loved  ease  and  quiet  and  a  regular  life.  Nothing  vexed  him 
more  than  to  have  his  pet  habits  interfered  with.  He  con 
sidered  himself  a  privileged  member  of  the  household  be 
cause  he  was,  in  a  certain  sense,  a  guest — a  guest  of  some 
twenty-five  years'  standing ;  that  is  to  say,  from  the  date  of 
his  sister's  marriage  to  the  Colonel.  He  had  his  particular 
armchair,  his  negro  "boy,"  whom  he  had  picked  out  from 
among  the  Colonel's  slaves,  his  horse,  his  special  dishes  at 
table.  His  fishing  tackle,  his  canes,  his  gun,  all  chosen  from 
the  Colonel's  stock,  were  his  exclusive  property,  which  no 
body  else  must  touch.  Lydia  laid  impious  hands  upon  all. 
It  was  she  who  upset  his  tobacco  box,  broke  his  pipes,  sent 
his  "  boy  "  on  errands  to  unaccountable  places,  appropriated 
his  armchair  for  a  family  of  kittens,  and  so  on,  through  a 
long  catalogue  of  constantly  recurring  grievances.  She  had 
absolutely  no  sense  of  order.  He  declared  once,  with  an 
oath,  that  she  was  a  human  mosquito,  continually  buzzing 
about — now  here,  now  there,  but  nipping,  at  every  chance, 
at  him  whose  dearest  wish  it  was  to  be  let  alone.  The 
"  dullness  "  which  had  reigned  in  the  house  during  her  ab 
sence  had  been  bliss  for  him.  He  had  hoped  it  would  con 
tinue  for  nearly  two  months  longer,  and  now,  suddenly,  here 
was  Chaos  come  again  !  Good-bye,  at  once,  to  his  delicious 


58 

afternoon  naps,  his  unmolested  enjoyment  of  his  pipe,  his 
quiet  games  of  chess  in  the  evening  with  the  Colonel  or 
Miss  Twiggs,  Lydia's  former  governess. 

"  What  about  your  education  ? "  he  demanded  sourly. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  cut  school  altogether  and  grow  up  an 
ignoramus  ? " 

Mr.  Plunkett  had  a  fondness  for  putting  things  bluntly. 
He  was  one  of  that  class  of  men  who  find  a  relish  in  telling 
unpleasant  truths.  Besides,  he  was  nettled  at  his  niece. 
He  wanted  to  "  get  even  "  with  her  for  bursting  upon  him 
in  this  way,  without  the  least  notice. 

"  Thank  you,  Uncle  Josias  !  "  said  Lydia,  sweeping  him 
a  curtsy.  She  liked  the  sulky  old  curmudgeon  and  en 
joyed  his  thrusts  ;  they  served  to  accentuate  the  affection 
that  surrounded  her  at  the  Manor. 

The  Colonel  exchanged  laughing  glances  with  her. 
"  Uncle  Josias  "  was  a  standing  source  of  amusement  for 
them.  His  strictures  were  never  to  be  taken  to  heart. 
They  were  a  kind  of  condiment  that  gave  a  keener  flavour  to 
life. 

"  We'll  have  to  reconcile  ourselves  to  her  deficiencies, 
Josias,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  jocose  pretence  of  accept 
ing  the  inevitable ;  "  she  has  come  to  stay." 

Mr.  Plunkett  turned  short  on  his  heel  and  left  them. 
What  was  the  use  of  arguing  ?  His  brother-in-law  was 
simply  daft  about  the  girl.  She  could  twist  him  round  her 
little  finger.  In  Mr.  Plunkett's  opinion,  she  was  utterly 
spoiled.  Well,  he  had  spoken  out,  and  now,  he  would  wash 
his  hands  of  her.  Nobody  could  accuse  him  of  not  having 
said  what  he  thought.  It  wouldn't  be  his  fault  if  she 
turned  out  badly. 

"Poor  Uncle  Josias  1"  exclaimed  Lydia,  "you've  given 
him  a  blow,  Papa  !  But  it  makes  me  so  glad  to  know  you 
won't  send  me  away  again.  Isn't  it  better,  after  all,  to  be 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  59 

a  happy  ignoramus  here,  than  something — I  don't  know 
what — away  from  everything  and  everybody  I  love  ?  And 
I  wasn't  learning  much,  either.  You  are  in  earnest  ?  I  may 
really  stay  ?  " 

"  As  long  as  ever  you  like,  my  pet,"  replied  the  Colonel. 
"  And  now,  run  away  to  your  mother.  She  has  been  pining 
for  you  lately,  and  counting  the  days  for  your  return." 

Lydia  gave  him  another  vigorous  hug,  and  then  sped 
lightly  away  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BASIL  joined  the  Colonel  shortly  after  Lydia  had  left  him. 
He  had  waited  purposely,  not  wishing  to  intrude  upon  the 
first  moments  of  their  meeting.  He  was  greeted  with  a 
kindly,  familiar  nod.  Basil  was  practically  a  member  of  the 
family  and  a  day  scarcely  ever  passed  without  a  visit  from 
him  at  the  Manor. 

"  Lydia's  home  again,"  said  the  Colonel,  brightly,  sure 
that  Basil,  also,  would  be  pleased.  "  But  perhaps  you've 
seen  her  ? " 

"Yes,  sir;  I  brought  her  from  the  wharf  in  my  canoe." 

"  Lucky  you  were  there  to  meet  her ;  she  might  have  had 
some  trouble  finding  a  conveyance." 

"  You  forget  Caesar  and  his  ox-cart,"  suggested  Basil, 
smiling.  "  She  was  about  to  start  with  him." 

"Well,  you  saved  him  a  disagreeable  job,"  said  the 
Colonel,  with  a  hearty  laugh ;  "  'twould  have  been  devilish 
hard  on  him  to  have  had  to  bring  her  home  in  an  ox-cart. 
The  old  fellow  is  getting  more  and  more  airy  every  day  ; 
he'll  be  teaching  me  manners  after  awhile.  I  wish  I  knew 
some  way  of  taking  him  down  a  peg,  but  he  enjoys  his  con 
sequence  so  much  I  haven't  the  heart." 

Basil  thought  to  himself  there  were  a  good  many  things 
the  Colonel  hadn't  the  heart  to  do.  A  kinder  soul  never 
lived,  notwithstanding  his  prejudices  were  strong  and  his 
temper  choleric.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  say  "  no."  He 
liked  to  be  on  pleasant  terms  with  everybody,  down  to  the 
humblest  of  his  slaves.  But  for  the  authority  he  derived 
from  his  position  as  "  Marster  "  and  the  restraining  influ 
ence  of  his  mother,  the  discipline  at  the  Manor  would  have 

60 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  61 

been  but  lax.  His  servants  took  advantage  of  him  when 
ever  they  dared  and  obeyed  him  more  from  habit  than  for 
any  other  reason.  All  of  them  loved  him  more  or  less,  but 
that  did  not  prevent  them  from  cheating  him  if  they  could. 
To  Caesar  alone  was  his  word  the  law,  and  it  was  so  with 
him  only  because  of  the  old  servant's  rigid  notions  of  what 
was  befitting.  Basil  often  wondered  at  the  Colonel's  genial 
indifference,  for  he  had  been  educated  to  habits  of  discipline 
at  West  Point  and  afterwards  as  an  officer  of  dragoons  in 
the  regular  army.  Even  now,  as  the  commander  of  the 
county  militia,  he  was  strict  at  drill  and  often  sharp  and 
peremptory  in  manner.  The  truth  was,  probably,  that  his 
professional  instinct  reasserted  itself  when  he  donned  his 
uniform,  and  that,  at  other  times,  he  felt  free  to  give  his 
natural  amiability  full  play. 

"  By  the  way,  Basil,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  I  want  to  con 
sult  you  about  my  wheat.  Smyrk  (the  overseer)  thinks  it 
has  got  the  fly  in  it.  If  you  don't  mind,  we'll  look  it  over." 

He  often  consulted  Basil  about  farming  matters,  having 
great  confidence  in  his  judgment.  Though  a  young  man, 
Basil  had  already  made  a  local  reputation  as  a  successful 
planter.  At  first,  he  had  been  sneered  at  as  a  "  book 
farmer  "  and  "  visionary,"  but  most  of  his  experiments  had 
succeeded  and  he  had  gone  on  raising  larger  crops  and  finer 
cattle  every  year.  He  had  merely  applied  common  sense 
and  careful  reading  to  his  farming  operations,  but  the  re 
sults  had  astonished  his  neighbours,  who  persisted  in  doing 
things  in  a  certain  way  because  it  had  been  sanctified  by 
habit  and  tradition.  His  success  was  immensely  gratify 
ing  to  the  Colonel  who  regarded  him  almost  as  a  son  and 
felt  a  kind  of  paternal  pride  in  extolling  him  to  his  friends. 

Basil's  father  had  been  the  Colonel's  favourite  playmate  in 
childhood  and  was  still  his  dearest  friend,  and  this  fact  gave 
a  warmer  tinge  to  his  affection  for  the  son.  Since  the  death 


62  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

of  his  wife  many  years  before,  Mr.  Kent,  who,  until  then,  had 
been  brought  more  or  less  into  contact  with  his  neighbours, 
had  led  a  solitary  life,  shrinking  more  and  more  from  society, 
and  absorbed  in  philosophical  studies.  The  Colonel  was 
his  only  regular  visitor.  The  dissimilarity  of  their  tempera 
ments  and  tastes  was,  strange  to  say,  a  strong  factor  in  the 
intimacy  of  the  two  men.  The  one  was  essentially  a  man  of 
action ;  the  other,  a  thinker  and  a  dreamer.  The  Colonel 
loved  out-door  life ;  Mr.  Kent  hated  to  stir  beyond  his 
study ;  to  leave,  for  a  moment,  his  beloved  books.  Each 
admired  the  other  for  the  qualities  that  were  lacking  in  him 
self.  The  Colonel  was  lost  in  naive  wonder  at  the  book 
worm's  learning,  which  seemed  to  him  prodigious.  Mr. 
Kent  envied  the  Colonel  his  animal  spirits,  his  vigorous 
health,  his  keen  zest  in  life.  At  times,  he  almost  wished  the 
Colonel  would  carry  him  off  with  him  and  force  him  to  share 
the  enjoyments  of  fresh  air  and  sunshine  in  which  he 
seemed  to  delight.  Without  knowing  it,  the  Colonel  brought 
into  his  study,  musty  with  the  smell  of  books,  a  flavour  of  the 
woods  and  fields  that  tantalised  and  allured  the  toil-worn 
scholar.  It  was  a  breath  of  that  pulsating  outer  life  which 
he  shrank  from,  yet  secretly  craved. 

For  his  old  friend's  sake,  the  Colonel  had  taken  Basil  un 
der  his  special  charge  from  the  first,  supplying  the  deficiencies 
in  his  father  which  might  have  made  his  boyhood  a  lonely 
and  cheerless  one.  It  was  the  Colonel  who  saw  to  it  that  he 
had  the  usual  associations  and  enjoyments  of  boys  of  his  age 
and  encouraged  him  to  take  an  interest  in  the  management 
of  the  estate.  In  course  of  time,  he  had  grown  very  fond  of 
Basil  and  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  deferring  to  him  because, 
as  he  said,  he  had  an  old  head  on  young  shoulders.  When 
ever  he  was  in  doubt  or  difficulty,  he  turned  instinctively  to 
him. 

It  would  have  been  well  for  him  had  he  confided  in  him 


fully.  His  affairs  were  in  serious  disorder,  though  he  did 
not  know  it,  and  Basil,  who  had  real  capacity  as  a  manager, 
might  have  extricated  him.  But  the  Colonel  fancied  every 
thing  was  going  on  swimmingly  at  the  Manor.  True,  there 
were  debts,  but  the  Manor  was  a  great  estate  and  Reeve  made 
borrowing  so  easy  for  him  !  He  could  not  hide  from  himself 
the  fact  that  the  plantation  was  not  nearly  so  productive  as 
in  his  father's  day,  but  he  was  always  hoping  for  a  favourable 
turn.  He  could  not  see  why  it  was.  He  had  spent  large 
sums  for  "  improvements  "  of  various  kinds,  and  was  always 
ready  to  embark  in  some  new  enterprise,  but  to  his  surprise, 
very  few  of  his  investments  yielded  any  return.  Basil  could 
have  enlightened  him.  He  saw  clearly  enough  that  most  of 
his  schemes  were  extravagant  and  strongly  suspected  that 
the  overseer,  Smyrk,  was  a  rogue.  But  how  could  he  tell 
the  Colonel,  even  indirectly,  that  he  was  thriftless,  speculat 
ive,  credulous — an  easy  prey  for  every  swindler  who  came 
along  ?  Besides,  Basil  had  no  suspicion  of  the  actual  facts. 
He  did  not  dream  that  the  Colonel  was  in  serious  danger. 
He,  also,  thought  the  Manor  too  great  an  estate  to  become 
involved  by  mere  negligence.  The  Colonel  had  always  been 
easy-going  and  improvident,  and  no  great  harm  had,  appar 
ently,  resulted.  Why  should  he  meddle  ?  He  was  diffident, 
too,  of  his  own  opinions.  Because  he  had  succeeded  in  his 
father's  affairs,  it  did  not  follow  that  he  could  be  useful  in 
the  Colonel's.  Even  when  asked,  he  hesitated  to  give  him 
advice. 

His  course  would  have  been  very  different  could  he  have 
known  that  the  Colonel's  resources  were  being  deliberately 
sapped  by  the  Colonel's  trusted  agent,  Reeve,  in  collusion 
with  the  overseer.  The  cunning  lawyer  was  an  adept  in 
absorbing  large  estates.  For  many  years,  he  had  made  a 
business  of  lending  money,  with  men  of  straw  as  the  ostensi 
ble  creditors.  He  chose  his  victims  judiciously  among  the 


64  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

incapable  and  prodigal,  and  little  by  little,  got  them  into  his 
power,  finally  plucking  them  as  remorselessly  as  he  dared. 
He  did  not  hope  to  obtain  possession  of  the  Manor  for  him 
self.  That  would  be  a  dangerous,  though  a  tempting,  feat. 
To  be  the  acknowledged  master  where  he  was  now  a  mere 
retainer,  was  an  idea  that  appealed  to  him  strongly,  but  he 
could  not  afford  it.  It  would  be  ruinous,  not  only  for  him  but 
for  his  son,  to  appear  before  the  community  as  the  destroyer 
of  the  family  which,  in  popular  estimation,  had  made  him  what 
he  was.  He  would  have  to  do  that  if  he  openly  took  the  estate. 
No ;  he  must  content  himself  with  getting  the  Colonel  so 
deep  in  debt  that  he  would  practically  own  him.  The  Ches- 
tons  fancied  they  had  made  him ;  there  was  keen  relish  for 
him  in  the  thought  that,  some  day,  they  might  discover  he 
could  make  or  unmake  them.  And  it  was  within  the  range 
of  possibility  that  he  might  be  able,  ultimately,  to  seat  his 
son  in  the  Colonel's  place  without  incurring  the  odium  he 
feared. 

The  Colonel  was  mere  clay  in  such  hands.  He  had  not 
been  educated  as  a  planter  but  as  a  soldier,  and  had  spent 
his  early  manhood  in  the  army.  Called  to  the  management 
of  the  estate  unexpectedly  upon  the  death  of  his  father,  to 
take  the  place  of  his  elder  brother,  who  had  been  disinherited, 
he  had  brought  to  his  duties  fixed  ideas  and  habits.  It  was 
too  late  for  him  to  change.  He  laboured  conscientiously  to 
adapt  himself  to  the  new  conditions,  and  after  awhile,  deluded 
himself  with  the  notion  that  he  had  succeeded.  So  far  as 
mere  externals  went,  he  was  a  model  country  gentleman  of 
the  accepted  type.  He  was  a  delightful  host,  a  "  social 
leader,"  an  impressive  figure  on  all  public  occasions.  He 
could  even  talk  quite  fluently  about  farming,  and  imagined 
himself  an  authority  on  horses  and  cattle.  But  as  to  the 
real  economics  of  agriculture,  he  learned  little  or  nothing. 
Persuaded  by  Reeve  that  old  Caesar  (who  the  lawyer  soon 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  65 

found  was  incorruptible)  was  too  severe  upon  his  fellow- 
slaves,  he  supplanted  him  with  Smyrk,  and  committed  all  the 
details  to  him.  He  trusted  both  the  lawyer  and  the  overseer 
implicitly ;  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  him  to  suspect 
them  of  treachery.  Both  had  been  born  on  the  estate.  He 
looked  upon  them  as  his  henchmen,  and  imagined  they  were 
devoted  to  his  interests.  It  was  necessary  to  snub  Reeve  at 
times,  but  he  never  dreamed  that  he  would  bear  him  any 
grudge  for  that.  In  his  heart,  of  course,  the  fellow  must 
know  his  place  ! 

Under  these  conditions,  it  was  easy  to  fleece  him.  The 
process  had  been  going  on  for  some  twenty  years.  Reeve 
had  heavy  mortgages  on  the  Manor.  Smyrk  was  the 
owner  of  several  farms  in  a  distant  part  of  the  State.  The 
Colonel  was  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy.  Neither  he  nor 
any  of  his  friends  had  the  faintest  inkling  of  the  fact.  When 
he  needed  money,  Reeve  was  at  hand  to  supply  it.  The 
Colonel  never  hesitated  to  respond  to  an  appeal  for  aid,  and 
was  always  ready  to  "  go  security  "  for  a  friend.  A  thorough 
optimist,  he  was  confident  that  everything  would  come  right 
in  the  end,  and  went  on  carelessly  enjoying  himself,  after 
the  manner  of  his  kind. 

After  a  careful  examination  of  the  wheat,  Basil  expressed 
the  opinion  that  the  damage  was  not  so  serious  as  Smyrk 
had  imagined.  Reassured,  the  Colonel  started  to  return  to 
the  house. 

"Any  news  at  the  wharf?"  he  inquired.  "I  forgot  to 
ask  you.  Lydia's  sudden  arrival  drove  everything  else  clean 
out  of  my  head." 

Basil  told  him  of  the  riot  in  Baltimore  on  the  previous 
day.  The  Colonel  listened,  deeply  interested.  This  was 
stirring  news,  indeed  1 

"  They  drove  the  troops  back  ?  "  he  demanded  eagerly. 
"  They  were  only  volunteers." 
5 


66  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

As  a  "  regular  army  "  man,  he  held  the  militia  in  scant 
esteem,  though  he  owed  his  title  partly  to  the  fact  that  he 
held  the  command  of  the  county  battalion.  However,  he 
would  have  been  dubbed  "  the  Colonel  "  by  his  neighbours  in 
any  event,  merely  because  he  was  the  master  of  the  Manor. 
The  title,  by  common  consent,  went  with  the  estate.  For 
generations,  the  owner,  in  the  absence  of  any  other  dignity, 
had  been  known  as  "  the  Colonel."  Even  his  father,  the 
Judge,  had  been  "  Colonel "  up  to  the  time  of  his  elevation 
to  the  bench.  It  was  a  title  which  had  lost  its  military  sig 
nificance,  and  had  become  a  kind  of  hereditary  badge  of 
rank. 

"  No,  they  succeeded  in  getting  through  to  Washington," 
said  Basil. 

"  The  devil  they  did  !  We  must  stop  that.  It's  nothing 
short  of  invasion,  sir — invasion  of  a  sovereign  state." 

The  Colonel  was  greatly  excited.  He  had  always  been 
an  ardent  "  States'  Rights  "  man  and  a  "  strict  construc- 
tionist  "of  the  Constitution.  The  South,  for  him,  was  sacred 
soil.  Its  institutions,  ideas,  habits  were  unimpeachable  ;  its 
social  economy  the  best  that  could  be  devised,  not  only  for 
his  own  class,  but  as  he  believed,  for  the  community  as  a 
whole.  He  confused  the  interests  of  a  small  oligarchy  with 
the  general  interests.  To  his  mind,  that  oligarchy  was  the 
special  depositary  of  intelligence,  of  culture,  of  order.  Was 
it  not  best  for  the  "  poor  whites  "  as  well  as  for  the  negroes, 
that  they  should  be  guided  and  controlled  by  a  disciplined 
force  rather  than  by  the  caprices  of  their  ignorance  and 
folly  ?  It  was  no  hardship,  for  them,  any  more  than  for  so 
many  children,  to  be  denied  a  power  they  would  infallibly, 
in  his  opinion,  have  abused. 

He  failed  to  see  that  repression,  however  benevolent,  gen 
erates  in  all  human  society  diseases  which  gradually  sap 
the  stateliest  and  stoutest  fabric.  All  was  fair,  to  his  eye. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  67 

because  the  many  submitted  so  amiably  to  the  few.  He 
was  blind  to  the  fact  that  the  free  states  were  rapidly  out 
stripping  the  slave  states  in  wealth,  in  enlightenment,  in 
the  general  average  of  happiness  precisely  because  they 
gave  every  individual  an  equal  chance.  He  pitied  what 
seemed  to  him  their  inevitable  lack  of  social  graces,  their 
sordid  materialism.  How  could  there  be  any  fixed  standard 
of  refinement,  any  real  cultivation  among  people  who  had  no 
recognised  gentry,  and  rated  men  only  according  to  their 
individual  efficiency  or  their  wealth,  acquired,  perhaps,  in 
some  low  form  of  industry  or  trade  ?  What  wonder  that  he 
was  intolerant  of  conditions  the  opposite  of  those  which 
made  the  atmosphere  of  his  own  home  so  genial,  so  pleas 
ant  ? 

There  were  some  persons  in  the  North,  however,  to  whom 
he  conceded  qualities  corresponding  to  those  which  his 
caste  monopolised  in  the  South.  They  were  members  of 
"  old  families  "  with  whom  the  Chestons  had  sustained  rela 
tions  of  intimacy  from  colonial  times.  Every  autumn,  a  party 
made  up  of  Philadelphians  and  New  Yorkers,  with  some 
times  a  Bostonian  or  two,  came  down  to  the  Manor  to  hunt, 
accompanied  by  their  wives  and  daughters.  The  Colonel 
returned  their  visits  in  winter,  and  met  them  every  summer 
at  Newport  or  Saratoga,  or  perhaps,  at  one  of  the  Virginia 
Springs.  No  doubt,  there  linger  in  Northern  households, 
even  yet,  many  pleasant  memories  of  the  Colonel,  of  his 
quaint  ingenuousness,  his  dignified  suavity,  his  careful  def 
erence  for  women,  his  tenderness  for  children.  He  never 
aired  his  sectional  arrogance  there,  but  it  was  alive  and 
active  in  him  none  the  less,  and  now,  it  burst  forth  in  a 
flame. 

"  I  must  order  out  the  battalion  at  once."  he  exclaimed. 
"  The  whole  military  force  of  the  State  should  take  the 
field." 


68  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Basil  glanced  at  him  anxiously.  He  was  fearful  he  might 
do  something  rash.  The  community  was  already  in  a  fer 
ment.  A  hasty  word  from  a  man  of  the  Colonel's  influence, 
and  a  conflagration  would  follow.  It  seemed  to  Basil  to  be 
a  time,  not  for  precipitate  action,  but  for  caution  and  restraint. 
The  situation  was  deplorable  enough  as  it  was  ;  it  could 
only  be  aggravated  by  appeals  to  the  passions  of  the  hour. 

"  You  will  not  act  without  orders,  I  presume  ?  "  he  ven 
tured  doubtfully. 

The  Colonel  was  taken  aback.  The  question  was  like  a 
cold  douche  to  him.  Act  without  orders  ?  How  could  he  ? 
Was  he  not  an  old  army  officer,  a  West  Pointer,  to  whom 
obedience  was  the  fundamental  law  of  military  conduct  ? 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  answered  mechanically.  With  a 
laugh,  as  he  realised  the  folly  of  his  proposed  action,  he 
added,  "You've  saved  me  from  a  bad  blunder,  my  boy. 
What  would  people  have  said  had  I  given  the  word  without 
waiting  to  hear  from  the  brigade  commander  ?  It  would 
have  been  gross  insubordination.  It  seems  I  need  some 
one  to  keep  me  straight ;  I  must  make  you  my  adjutant !  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

LYDIA  found  her  mother  in  bed.  Mrs.  Cheston  was  suf 
fering  from  a  nervous  attack,  of  a  kind  to  which  she  was 
often  subject.  Its  most  marked  symptom  was  intense  irri 
tability.  When  Lydia  entered  the  room,  she  was  tossing 
impatiently  about  and  scolding  her  attendant,  a  tall  mulatto 
woman,  for  being  unable  to  make  her  comfortable.  "  You 
are  so  clumsy,  Phyllis !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  will  you  never 
learn  how  to  fix  the  pillows  ?  "  The  woman  said  nothing, 
but  glanced  at  her  moodily,  biting  her  lip,  as  she  obediently 
smoothed  a  pillow.  A  look  of  suppressed  vindictiveness 
flitted  across  her  swarthy  face,  and  a  touch  of  crimson 
showed  itself  in  her  cheeks.  She  hated  her  mistress,  not  so 
much  because  she  upbraided  her  so  often  without  reason, 
though  that  was  hard  to  bear,  as  because  she  knew  the  secret 
of  her  ailment,  a  secret  which  Mrs.  Cheston  guarded  jealously 
from  every  human  eye,  especially  her  husband's.  She,  Phyllis, 
and  she  only,  could  tell  what  it  was  that  had  wrecked  her  mis 
tress's  health  and  left  her  a  frail,  nervous  woman  prematurely 
old  and  always  dreading  exposure.  Mrs.  Cheston  had  no  sus 
picion  of  her  knowledge.  To  her  eyes,  she  was  but  an  ordinary 
servant.  How  she  would  have  shuddered  could  she  have 
known  that  the  silent,  submissive  creature  whom  she  felt 
free  to  vent  her  ill-humour  upon,  had  it  in  her  power  to  betray 
her  if  she  chose  1  But  Phyllis  was  afraid  to  betray  her ;  her 
unsupported  word  would  probably  carry  but  little  weight  and 
she  might  ruin  herself  instead  of  hurting  her  mistress. 
"  Marster  "  would  be  sure  to  send  her  away  ;  perhaps  he 
would  sell  her.  Her  hatred  was  better  served  by  silence  ; 
she  could  always  be  near  her  mistress  to  enjoy  her  misery. 

69 


70  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

It  was  luxury  to  the  savage  soul  of  the  mulatto  to  watch 
her  as  she  writhed  in  the  agony  of  a  sudden  spasm.  "  Miss 
Flo'r's  "  inmost  thoughts  lay  before  her,  she  fancied,  an  open 
book.  Vain  remorse  and  longing,  as  well  as  terror  of  dis 
covery,  no  doubt,  gave  poignancy  to  her  fits  of  despair,  for 
they  were  little  else.  Phyllis  knew  there  had  been  a  time 
when  this  woman  had  felt  a  consuming  passion,  but  not  for 
the  man  who  had  afterwards  become  her  husband.  It  was 
the  Colonel's  brother,  Edgar  Cheston,  who  had  won  her 
heart,  years  ago.  Phyllis,  then  a  beautiful  girl,  had  attracted 
the  notice  of  "  Young  Marster,"  and  worshipping  him,  had 
been  compelled  to  see  him  turn  from  her  to  "  Miss  Flo'r." 
It  was  because  of  this  she  hated  her,  and  there  was  more. 
For  Edgar  Cheston  having  jilted  her,  "  Miss  Flo'r "  had 
consoled  herself  with  his  brother,  and  after  their  marriage, 
had  bitterly  avenged  the  wrong  she  had  suffered  by  intrigu 
ing  successfully  to  dispossess  Edgar  as  the  chosen  heir  to 
the  estate.  It  was  through  her,  and  her  alone,  Phyllis  often 
told  herself,  that  "  Marse  Edgar  "  had  been  disinherited  and 
driven  from  home.  Long  years  ago,  he  had  disappeared  in 
the  far  West,  and  nothing  had  since  been  heard  from  him. 
It  was  all  her  mistress's  fault.  But  for  her,  he  might  now 
be  living  in  ease  at  the  Manor,  and  she,  Phyllis,  might  be 
at  the  side  of  the  man  whom  she  had  never  ceased  to  adore 
with  the  humble  but  none  the  less  passionate  devotion  of  a 
slave. 

At  times,  she  felt  a  fierce  contempt  when  she  saw  the 
Colonel  with  his  wife  and  watched  the  latter's  demonstra 
tions  of  affection.  Mrs.  Cheston  had  learned  to  love  the 
man  whom  she  had  married  from  pique  and  ambition,  but 
Phyllis  did  not  believe  this.  It  was,  to  her  eyes,  all  a  sham. 
Fear  of  his  anger  alone,  she  was  confident,  prompted  her 
mistress  to  coddle  him,  to  puff  him  up  with  the  idea  that  he 
was  everything  to  her,  so  that  if  he  did  hear  anything,  he 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  71 

would  be  slow  to  believe  it.  But  it  was  precisely  because 
she  loved  him,  that  Mrs.  Cheston's  dread  of  detection  was 
so  acute.  The  Colonel  had  no  suspicion  of  her  youthful 
passion  for  his  brother,  though  he  knew  that  they  had  had 
some  sort  of  "  affair,"  or  of  the  part  she  had  played  in  making 
him,  her  husband,  the  master  of  the  Manor.  He  was  con 
vinced  his  father  had  substituted  him  in  his  will  solely  be 
cause  he  had  discovered  that  Edgar  was  a  spendthrift. 
That  his  wife  could  have  had  any  share  in  this  revelation 
would  have  seemed  to  him  the  figment  of  a  disordered  brain 
and  Mrs.  Cheston  felt  that  if  he  ever  learned  the  truth,  he 
would  despise  her.  She  clung  to  his  unquestioning  trust 
and  affection  with  all  the  greater  tenacity,  because  of  her 
sense  of  guilt  towards  him.  Phyllis  would  have  rejoiced 
could  she  have  satisfied  herself  that  Mrs.  Cheston 
cared  for  her  husband,  and  in  caring,  suffered  the  more, 
but  she  believed  her  pride  alone  was  involved.  She  was 
sure  the  flame  of  passion  still  burned  in  her  mistress,  as  it 
burned  in  her,  though  now,  it  had  evidently  taken  the  form 
of  a  hopeless  disappointment,  a  canker  of  regret,  which  the 
broken  wife  and  mother  must  always  hide. 

If  Edgar  Cheston  should  reappear  some  day  1  That 
were  an  event  that  might  unseal  her  (Phyllis's)  lips.  She 
could  give  free  rein  to  her  malice,  then.  His  presence 
would  protect  her ;  he  would  be  sure  to  encourage  her,  to 
egg  her  on ;  he  was  doubtless  even  more  venomous  than 
she.  From  his  point  of  view,  he  had  suffered  a  monstrous 
wrong,  and  he  was  not  the  kind  of  man  to  forgive.  He  had 
always  been  vindictive  in  punishing  even  slight  injuries ; 
there  would  be  no  pity  in  him  now.  Revenge,  such  as  he 
would  take,  would  be  well  worth  waiting  for.  But  his  re 
turn  were  too  much  to  hope  for.  In  common  with  all  the 
members  of  the  family,  so  she  imagined,  Phyllis  thought  it 
likely,  from  his  long  silence,  that  he  was  dead.  There  was 


72  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

one  secret  her  mistress  had  really  hid  from  her.  Mrs.  Ches- 
ton  had  heard  from  Edgar  on  two  occasions,  and  she 
strongly  suspected  he  was  still  alive.  For  twenty  years  or 
more,  she  had  lived,  from  day  to  day,  in  dread  of  his  return. 
It  was  the  uncertainty  that  gave  vitality  to  her  fears.  But 
for  this,  she  might,  at  last,  have  found  the  solace  of  security 
and  peace.  As  it  was,  her  life  was  a  daily  ordeal  of  crav 
ing  for  unalloyed  enjoyment  of  the  affection  that  surrounded 
her  with  tender  care  and  of  shuddering  suspense  under 
which,  at  times,  her  strength  gave  way  and  she  was  seized 
with  fits  of  nervous  fright.  No  wonder  her  disorder  puz 
zled  her  physician ;  its  cause  lay  far  beyond  the  reach  of 
his  drugs. 

Lydia  drew  near  the  bed  softly,  but  her  mother,  sensitive 
to  the  slightest  sound,  turned  hastily,  and  recognising  her, 
though  the  room  was  dark,  gave  a  cry  of  delight. 

"  Ah,  my  darling  1  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  thin,  worn  voice, 
as  she  clasped  her  to  her  breast,  "  I  wanted  you  so  much  1 
I  have  been  almost  beside  myself  to-day.  No  one  could 
soothe  me.  I  was  thinking  of  you,  and  wishing,  with  all  my 
heart,  you  were  here.  There,  put  your  hand  on  my  forehead 
— so.  Isn't  it  hot  ?  And  your  hand  is  so  soft,  so  cool. 
We  won't  talk,  dear.  I  need  sleep,  above  everything,  and  I 
can  sleep  if  you'll  sit  beside  me,  and  hold  your  hand  just 
there." 

She  sank  back  on  the  pillow  as  she  spoke  and  closed  her 
eyes.  Lydia  stroked  her  brow  lightly,  smoothing  back  the 
disordered  tresses  of  raven  hair  streaked  with  grey.  Her 
touch  seemed  magnetic.  In  a  few  moments,  the  queru 
lous  look  left  her  mother's  face,  and  presently,  she  was  sleep 
ing  as  tranquilly  as  a  child.  The  tinkle  of  the  dinner- 
bell  did  not  disturb  her.  Lydia  knew  she  might  leave  with 
out  risk  of  waking  her.  Stealing  noiselessly  out  of  the 
room,  she  descended  to  the  dining-room,  where  she  had  a 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  73 

hearty  greeting  from  her  grandmother,  -her  brother,  and  Miss 
Twiggs,  her  former  governess.  Ah,  it  was  good  to  see  them 
all  once  more  1  And  the  dinner — how  delicious  it  was  1 
The  food  here  had  a  different  taste,  a  finer  flavour  than  at 
her  Aunts',  though  the  latter,  like  all  Tidewater  women, 
were  dainty  epicures  and  prided  themselves  on  their  cooking. 

Lydia  ate  but  little  of  the  tempting  profusion  before  her, 
though  her  appetite  had  been  sharpened  by  the  air  of  the 
Bay.  She  was  too  busy  talking.  She  had  questions  to  ask 
of  everyone  as  to  what  had  happened  in  her  absence.  No 
detail  was  too  trivial  for  her.  Now  and  then,  she  paused  to 
glance  about  her  with  eager  interest.  The  homely  atmos 
phere  of  the  dining-room  was  sweet  to  her.  Its  furniture 
and  appointments,  like  everything  else  at  the  Manor,  were 
old  and  worn,  but  their  very  shabbiness  endeared  them  to  her. 
The  faded,  almost  threadbare,  carpet ;  the  tarnished  gilt 
mirror  behind  her  father's  chair  reflecting  the  lawn  and  front 
lane,  with  its  avenue  of  elms  ;  the  horsehair  sofa  against  the 
wall ;  the  huge  armchair,  with  a  striped  linen  cover,  in  one 
corner ;  the  great  mahogany  side-board,  with  its  carved  urn 
at  each  end  and  its  imposing  array  of  silver  ;  the  colored 
prints  of  prize  cattle  and  engravings  of  "  Shakespeare  and 
His  Friends,"  and  of  "Washington  Crossing  the  Delaware," 
which  still  hung  in  the  same  places  on  the  walls — each  and 
every  object  was  idealized  for  her  by  childish  memories. 
The  slightest  change  would  have  robbed  the  room  of  some 
thing  of  its  charm. 

Immediately  after  dinner,  she  returned  to  her  mother  and 
found  her  still  asleep. 

"  Call  me  if  she  wakens,  Phyllis,"  she  whispered  to  the 
mulatto,  who  stood  like  a  sentinel  near  the  head  of  the  bed, 
"  I  am  going  to  look  about  me,  but  shan't  be  far  away." 

She  was  eager  to  make  a  tour  of  the  house  and  grounds. 
Basil,  no  doubt,  would  like  to  accompany  her.  She  went  to 


look  for  him  in  the  library,  for  after  dinner,  her  father  always 
took  his  guests  there  to  smoke.  She  had  no  scruples  about 
disturbing  them.  Uncle  Josias  didn't  matter — he  was  sure 
to  resent  her  intrusion  anywhere  ;  the  others  always  wel 
comed  her. 

The  library  was  a  hexagon-shaped  wing  which  projected 
from  the  western  gable  of  the  main  building.  It  looked  out, 
on  one  side,  upon  the  rear  lawn  and  garden,  and  on  another, 
upon  the  family  graveyard  which  lay  at  the  head  of  the 
avenue  of  pines,  but  a  few  feet  from  the  corner  of  the  house. 
The  graveyard,  enclosed  by  a  mossy  brick  wall,  contained 
many  graves  covered  with  periwinkle  which  was  now  in  bloom. 
Most  of  the  graves  were  marked  by  shafts  of  granite  or  sand 
stone  or  by  marble  tombs  engraved  with  lengthy  epitaphs 
beneath  coats  of  arms.  The  family  burial  places  at  nearly 
all  the  old  plantations  of  Tidewater  Maryland  are  to  be  found 
thus,  close  to  the  house.  Is  there  not  something  touching 
in  the  fact  ?  Does  it  not  speak  eloquently  of  affection,  sur 
viving  death,  which  prompts  the  living  to  treat  the  departed 
ones  as  still  having  part  and  parcel  in  the  home  they  loved  ? 
The  plantation  families  kept  their  dead  near  them,  with  no 
feeling  of  fear  or  repugnance,  that  they  might  watch  over 
them — sure  that  they,  in  their  turn,  would  thus  be  tenderly 
cared  for  and  cherished  long  after  their  dust  had  mingled 
with  the  beloved  soil. 

The  tall  oaken  shelves  of  the  library  were  tightly  packed 
with  old  books.  Many  of  them  had  been  printed  in  London 
early  in  the  seventeenth  century.  On  the  fly  leaves  of  some 
of  these  were  written  the  names  of  half  a  dozen  successive 
owners,  with  occasionally,  quaint  comments  and  reflections 
of  some  reader  of  scribbling  propensity.  In  one  corner 
stood  a  sword  and  a  couple  of  lances,  memorials  of  the 
Colonel's  army  career.  On  the  wall  above  the  open  fire 
place,  hung  prints  of  famous  race-horses.  Upon  the  yellow 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  75 

muslin  blinds  of  the  windows,  were  crude  bits  of  landscape, 
supposed  to  depict  certain  scenes  at  the  Manor,  which  some 
visitor,  who  fancied  himself  an  artist,  had  painted  years  be 
fore  with  rough  strokes  of  green. 

When  Lydia  appeared  in  the  doorway,  the  smokers,  tilted 
back  comfortably  in  large,  rush-bottomed  chairs,  were  well 
advanced  in  enjoyment  of  the  weed.  Each  had  a  clay  pipe 
with  a  long  reed  stem,  and  the  atmosphere  was  thick  with 
smoke  from  fragrant  tobacco  grown  on  the  estate.  Lydia 
waited,  mischievously,  for  the  anathema  Uncle  Josias  would 
be  swift  to  pronounce,  but  the  old  fellow  merely  grunted  and 
gave  a  longer  pull  at  his  pipe. 

"  Come,  Basil,"  she  said,  with  a  confident  air  of  proprietor 
ship,  "I'm  going  to  see  how  you  kept  your  promise  to  look 
after  things  for  me." 

Basil  rose  promptly  and  emptied  his  pipe.  The  Colonel 
laughingly  protested. 

"  You  might  have  let  him  finish  his  smoke,"  he  said,  "  it 
is  cruel  to  cut  a  fellow  off  in  that  way." 

Uncle  Josias  looked  up  at  the  ceiling  with  a  sarcastic  air. 
What  did  she  care  ?  It  was  just  as  he  expected — breaking 
in  upon  them  at  every  whip-stitch. 

"  Fill  up  your  pipe  again,  Basil,"  said  Lydia  compas 
sionately,  "I'll  wait." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Basil,  smiling,  "  I  know  you're  eager 
to  be  off." 

Lydia  thanked  him  with  a  nod,  rather  carelessly.  She 
couldn't  remember  a  time  when  he  hadn't  been  ready  to  drop 
anything  for  her.  She  took  it  quite  as  a  matter  of  course. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  them,  Uncle  Josias  turned  to 
the  Colonel  with  a  knowing  air,  which  was  also  inquisitorial. 

"  They're  as  fond  of  each  other  as  ever,"  he  said,  "  Lydia's 
almost  a  woman ;  I  presume  you  see  how  the  thing  will 
end  ? " 


76  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  I  hope  I  do,"  replied  the  Colonel  smiling.  "  There  are 
not  many  young  fellows  like  Basil." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Mr.  Plunkett's  tongue  to  say,  "  No, 
thank  Heaven,  there  are  not !  "  but  he  refrained.  His  easy 
going  brother-in-law  usually  suffered  him  to  say  what  he 
pleased,  but  he  was  infatuated  with  that  solemn  owl.  It  might 
be  unsafe  to  criticise  him.  Mr.  Plunkett  did  not  like  Basil. 
There  was  nothing  in  common  between  them.  The  meddle 
some  old  bachelor  was  sociable,  chatty,  inquisitive,  with  a 
keen  love  of  scandal  and  a  biting  tongue.  The  indifference 
to  the  petty  affairs  of  his  neighbours  which  Basil  always  ex 
hibited  was  annoying  to  him.  He  had  been  baffled  more 
than  once  by  his  reserve. 

But  after  all,  what  did  it  matter?  If  his  brother-in-law 
wished  to  give  his  daughter  to  a  dull,  sulky  fellow,  why 
should  he  object  ?  The  sooner  Lydia  was  married  and  out 
of  the  house,  the  sooner  peace  and  quiet  would  come  again. 
He  would  always  think  her  choice  a  poor  one,  but  if  she 
really  cared  for  Basil,  he  needn't  worry. 

"  Damme  1  "  he  said  suddenly  to  himself,  "  I'll  help  on  the 
match  !  "  He  must  have  a  finger  in  the  pie,  somehow  ;  he 
fancied  nothing  could  go  on  at  the  Manor  smoothly  without 
his  help. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  WE  must  first  pay  Aunt  Barbara  a  visit,"  said  Lydia,  as 
they  started  down  the  hall. 

"  Aunt  Barbara"  was  Mrs.  Cleaves,  the  housekeeper.  She 
had  been  a  notable  figure  in  the  family  for  half  a  century  or 
more,  and  was  next  in  authority  to  the  domestic  autocrat — 
Oie  Miss.  Mrs.  Cleaves  was  the  widow  of  a  Manor  tenant 
whose  family,  as  well  as  her  own,  had  been  retainers  of  the 
Chestons  since  the  first  occupation  of  the  land.  "  Aunt 
Barbara's  "  interests  were  wholly  identified  with  those  of  the 
Manor  household.  She  had  no  ambitions  and  scarcely  any 
ideas  which  were  not  bounded  by  the  Manor  horizon. 
Her  devotion,  silent,  unobtrusive,  yet  always  alert  and 
active,  was  rewarded  with  a  consideration  which  raised 
her  above  the  level  of  a  servant  and  almost  to  the  dignity  of 
a  friend.  In  her  heart,  she  was  very  proud  of  this  distinc 
tion,  and  occasionally  showed  a  sense  of  her  importance  in 
her  manner  towards  the  negroes  and  even  towards  white 
people  whom  she  considered  inferior.  She  knew  the  family 
history  by  heart  and  was  a  bubbling  spring  of  anecdotes, 
ghost  stories,  traditions  of  former  occupants  of  the  Manor. 
Lydia  had  always  been  her  most  eager  listener,  and  the  old 
woman  had  grown  to  love  her  more  than  even  her  own  flesh 
and  blood,  for,  blended  with  her  affection,  was  a  feeling  of 
fond  admiration  for  the  lovely,  impetuous  child,  who  seemed, 
to  her  untutored  but  keen  intelligence,  the  embodiment  of 
those  influences  which  had  given  the  family  its  special  stamp. 

The  housekeeper's  room  was  a  spacious  apartment  next 
to  the  kitchen,  with  a  brick  floor  and  a  large  open  fireplace. 
Half-way  up  the  walls  extended  oak  cupboards  with  shelves 

77 


78  A  MARYLAND  MANOR  i 

for  china  and  glass.  In  one  corner  was  the  pantry,  with 
treasures  of  groceries,  pickles  and  preserves  over  which  the 
old  woman  kept  vigilant  guard.  A  door  in  another  corner 
opened  upon  the  stairs  descending  to  the  cellars  containing 
wines  and  liquors  and  a  varied  assortment  of  household 
supplies,  of  which  she  was  also  the  custodian.  No  slave  was 
expert  enough  in  "  takin'  things  ter  eat  " — they  did  not  con 
sider  this  stealing — to  baffle  her,  unless,  as  sometimes 
happened,  her  attention  was  diverted.  It  was  a  clever  bit 
of  work,  even  then,  if  one  of  them  succeeded  in  making  an 
extra  dip  into  the  flour  barrel  or  the  tea  canister  under  her 
nose. 

When  Lydia  and  Basil  entered,  they  found  Mrs.  Cleaves 
seated  at  a  table  near  the  open  window,  through  which  came 
puffs  of  warm  fragrant  air  from  the  front  lawn.  Her  face, 
round  and  rosy  as  an  apple,  was  framed  in  bunches  of  tiny 
curls  of  snow-white  hair  at  each  temple.  A  huge  check  apron, 
with  pleated  bib,  hid  most  of  her  gown  of  brown  bombazine. 
From  a  belt  about  her  waist,  hung  a  large  bunch  of  keys, 
which  jingled  whenever  she  moved.  A  pile  of  coarse  towels 
lay  on  the  table  beside  her,  and  crouched  on  wooden  stools 
or  crickets  at  her  feet,  sat  a  brace  of  negro  girls  who  were 
taking  their  first  lesson  in  sewing.  They  were  awkward 
young  hoydens  who  had  run  wild  at  the  Quarter  until  now, 
and  their  souls  were  in  fierce  revolt  at  being  subjected  to 
the  discipline  which  Mrs.  Gleaves  had  already  begun  to 
enforce  with  a  sharp  rap  of  her  scissors,  now  and  then,  on 
their  knuckles.  Their  heads  were  bent  low  over  their  work, 
and  Mrs.  Gleaves  was  gazing  down  at  the  woolly  topknots 
with  stern  disfavour  and  meditating  an  early  change  in  their 
style  of  hair-dressing,  as  a  prerequisite  to  converting  them 
into  tidy  house-servants.  It  was  a  style,  she  considered, 
which  was  befitting  only  to  savages,  an  irritating  survival  of 
barbarism,  The  head  was  laid  off  into  small  squares  by 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  79 

dint  of  persistent  combing,  and  in  these  plots,  the  coarse 
black  hair  was  gathered  up  into  wisps  and  twisted  into  horns, 
tied  about  with  strings,  which  stood  out  comically  here  and 
there  from  the  skull.  The  creatures  needed  but  rings  in 
their  noses,  "  Aunt  Barbara"  thought,  to  convince  one  they 
had  just  come  from  Africa.  In  front  of  the  fireplace,  in 
which  some  charred  logs  were  smouldering,  knelt  a  negro 
urchin,  with  a  board  before  him  propped  on  one  knee,  on 
which  he  was  polishing  knives  with  the  aid  of  brick-dust. 
As  he  rubbed,  he  nodded,  and  occasionally  ducking  forward, 
seemed  about  to  tumble  into  the  fire.  Mrs.  Gleaves  kept 
a  watchful  eye  on  him,  however,  and  a  warning  "  Take  keer, 
Hezekiah  !  "  would  cause  him  to  straighten  up  with  a  start, 
just  in  time. 

At  sight  of  Lydia  in  the  doorway,  Mrs.  Gleaves  rose  nimbly, 
with  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  You  haven't  forgotten  the  old  woman,  after  all,"  she 
said,  seizing  both  her  hands.  "  You  were  so  long  coming,  I 
almost  give  you  up." 

"  I  was  with  Mamma,"  explained  Lydia,  kissing  her.  "  I 
have  come  to  you  first,  after  her.  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you, 
dear  Aunt  Barbara !  " 

The  negro  damsels  exchanged  sly  glances  and  thrust  out 
their  tongues.  "  Dat  'ooman,"  as  they  contemptuously  des 
ignated  her  to  each  other,  a  "  dear  " !  To  them,  their 
knuckles  still  smarting  from  her  taps,  she  seemed  a  kind  of 
ogress. 

After  chatting  for  awhile  with  Mrs.  Gleaves,  Lydia  passed 
into  the  kitchen  and  was  greeted  with  noisy  demonstrations 
by  its  mistress,  Aunt  Dinah,  an  enormously  stout  old  woman 
with  a  jovial  countenance,  black  and  shining,  and  little 
twinkling  eyes  embedded  in  fat. 

"  Laws,  honey,"  said  Dinah  heartily,  "  I'seglad  terseeye 
lookin'  so  peart.  I  wuz  feared  dey'd  starve  you  off  dah. 


So  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Dey  tells  me  dey  only  gives  you  enuff  ter  peck  at  in  de  city. 
I  boun'  ye  missed  my  wittels — didn't  ye  now  ?  " 

"  I  did  indeed,  Aunt  Dinah  1  "  said  Lydia  laughing. 
"  There's  no  cooking  like  yours." 

Aunt  Dinah  gave  a  self-satisfied  wave  of  the  hand  as  if 
inviting  Young  Miss  to  look  about  her.  She  had  heard  of 
her  arrival  promptly,  and  had  at  once  set  her  corps  of  satel 
lites  to  work  to  "  fix  up  "  for  the  visit  she  would  be  sure  to 
pay  her.  The  shelves  and  tables  glittered  with  an  array  of 
highly-polished  tin  and  brass  utensils,  and  the  brick  floor  had 
been  freshly  swept.  Aunt  Dinah  wore  her  best  linsey- 
woolsey  gown  and  her  gayest  turban.  On  the  hearth  before 
a  cavernous  fireplace,  with  the  usual  equipment  of  crane^ 
spits,  pot-hooks  and  hangers,  his  nose  thrust  under  a  huge 
Dutch  oven,  lay  Rover,  dozing  after  a  bountiful  repast.  Lydia 
glanced  at  him  and  smiled.  Dogs  were  usually  excluded 
rigorously  from  Aunt  Dinah's  domain.  The  indulgence 
accorded  to  Rover  was  meant,  Lydia  knew,  as  a  special 
compliment  to  her. 

From  the  kitchen,  Lydia  and  Basil  proceeded  through  a  yard, 
roughly  paved  with  stones  and  shaded  by  lindens,  past  the 
dairy  to  the  stables.  The  latter,  a  group  of  low  wooden 
buildings,  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  bank  descending  to  the 
cove.  Lydia  waited  in  the  lane  while  Basil  went  in  search 
of  her  riding  horse,  Knight,  whom  she  had  left  in  his  care. 

Basil  led  him  forth  with  some  pride  in  the  fact  that  he  was 
in  fine  condition.  Every  day  during  Lydia's  absence,  Basil 
had  seen  that  he  was  properly  groomed  and  exercised.  His 
sleek  brown  coat  shone  like  satin.  He  reared  his  delicate 
head  quickly  and  gave  a  joyous  neigh  on  seeing  his  mistress. 

"  Thank  you  so  much,  Basil  1  "  said  Lydia,  as  she  stroked 
the  horse's  glossy  mane,  and  fed  him  with  lumps  of  sugar. 
"  We  shall  have  a  fine  gallop  to-morrow,  old  fellow  1  "  she 
added,  looking  into  Knight's  bright,  eager  eyes. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  81 

A  short  distance  from  the  stable,  in  a  corner  of  the  old 
apple  orchard,  stood  a  little  building  of  logs  with  pointed 
roof  of  cedar  branches.  This  was  Lydia's  bird-house,  in 
which  were  collected  specimens  of  all  the  birds  to  be  found 
at  the  Manor.  This,  too,  had  been  placed  under  Basil's 
charge. 

As  Lydia  entered,  there  was  a  great  fluttering  of  wings 
and  shrill  chirps  which  she  interpreted  as  notes  of  welcome. 

"  They  know  me,  too  1  "  she  cried,  delightedly,  passing 
hurriedly  from  cage  to  cage  and  greeting  each  occupant 
with  mock  formality.  All  at  once,  she  stopped  short,  and 
after  a  moment's  indecision,  began  to  throw  open  the  doors 
of  the  cages.  "  I'm  going  to  let  them  out,"  she  said,  impul 
sively,  "I've  learned  what  captivity  means.  They,  also, 
shall  have  their  freedom." 

Most  of  the  birds  flew  off  at  once  and  were  lost  in  the 
leafage  of  the  orchard.  Others  fluttered  uncertainly  about 
her  head,  as  though  loth  to  leave  her.  One  plump,  con 
sequential  little  sparrow  perched  himself  upon  her  shoulder 
and  looked  inquiringly  up  into  her  face  as  though  to  ask 
if  she  knew  what  she  was  doing.  A  moment  later,  he  flew 
back  to  his  cage  and  began  contentedly  to  preen  his 
feathers.  Lydia  glanced  at  him  with  a  comical  air  of  dis 
gust.  Evidently,  there  were  birds  as  well  as  people  who  had 
no  spirit,  who  were  perfectly  satisfied  to  stay  in  cages. 

At  the  Quarter,  Lydia  was  received  in  state  by  old  "  Aunt 
Sukey,"  a  withered  crone  of  eighty,  who  ruled  its  occupants 
— men,  women  and  children — with  a  heavy  hand.  Sukey 
had  been  Lydia's  nurse  and  professed  the  most  ardent  devo 
tion  for  her.  But  she  was  a  diplomatic  old  creature,  and  her 
profuse  demonstrations  of  affection  may  have  been  prompted 
in  part,  by  the  fact  that  Young  Miss  was  a  power  at  "  de 
big  house,"  and  a  useful  intermediary  in  procuring  indul 
gences  and  favours. 
6 


82  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Sukey  sat  enthroned  in  a  large  armchair  in  front  of  the 
Quarter  door.  Grouped  about  her  were  a  number  of 
women  and  girls  delighted  at  the  chance  of  lounging  away 
an  hour  or  two  while  awaiting  Young  Miss's  expected  visit. 
A  long-eared  hound  lay  stretched  at  her  feet  and  a  score  or 
more  of  pickaninnies  were  playing  in  the  lane.  The  men 
and  larger  boys  were  at  work  in  the  fields. 

"  Chillern  1  "  cried  Sukey,  as  she  saw  Lydia  and  Basil 
approaching,  "  whar's  de  manners  I  taught  ye  ?  " 

The  little  negroes,  instantly  leaving  off  play,  ranged  them 
selves  in  a  compact  mass  and  began  to  duck  their  heads 
and  scrape  their  feet  backwards,  crying  shrilly,  with  one  voice, 

"  Sobbun,  Miss  Lydyer !     Sobbun,  Marse  Basil !  " 

Lydia  called  out  gaily,  "  Well,  children  !  "  and  paused  to 
exchange  greetings  with  Aunt  Sukey.  Sukey  was  voluble  in 
her  expressions  of  delight.  "  Hit  do  de  old  nigger's  eyes  good 
ter  see  you  onc't  mo',"  she  declared.  But  her  trouble  was 
wasted.  She  had  confidently  expected  a  gratuity — a  silver 
half  dollar  or  quarter — but  Lydia  passed  on,  without  be 
stowing  the  coveted  coin.  "  All  dat  waste  o'  breff  fur  nuthin  !  " 
muttered  Sukey,  sourly.  "  Ne'  mind,  do' ;  I'll  have  it  frum 
her  fo'  de  week's  out  1 " 

About  a  hundred  yards  beyond  the  Quarter,  at  the  edge  of 
a  ravine,  stood  the  overseer's  house,  a  wooden  building, 
painted  yellow,  with  bushes  of  honeysuckle  at  each  side  of 
the  door.  Here,  Lydia  paused  for  a  word  with  Mrs.  Smyrk, 
the  overseer's  wife.  Mrs.  Smyrk  had  always  been  an  object 
of  solicitude  to  her,  because  of  her  stubborn  melancholy.  She 
was  a  gaunt,  sad-eyed  woman,  who  seemed  to  extract  a 
gloomy  pleasure  from  looking  on  the  dark  side  of  things. 
Lydia  had  often  laboured  zealously  to  enliven  her,  with  but 
indifferent  results.  It  was  one  of  her  fondest  ambitions  to 
bring  even  a  fleeting  smile  to  that  woebegone  visage.  Mrs. 
Smyrk,  to.  use  her  own  expression,  was  "  allers  down- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  83 

hearted."  She  never  admitted  that  she  was  in  a  more 
hopeful  condition  than  "  middlin'  mizzerble."  She  thanked 
the  "  good  Lawd "  fervently  if  she  was  no  worse  than 
"ruther  po'ly."  She  belonged,  in  short,  to  the  apathetic 
type  of  "  poor  whites  " — the  most  forlornly  shiftless  of 
human  beings. 

Mrs.  Smyrk  happened  to  be  in  the  front  yard.  She  greeted 
her  visitors  mournfully  and  asked  them,  as  if  in  duty  bound 
and  not  at  all  as  if  she  wished  it,  to  "  step  in  en'  tek  a 
cheer."  Lydia  declined  her  grudging  hospitality,  saying  she 
preferred  to  sit  down  on  a  bench  beneath  a  large  cherry 
tree  white  with  blossoms  that  formed  a  snowy  dome 
about  which  bees  were  humming. 

"  How  are  the  children  ? "  asked  Lydia,  brightly. 

Mrs.  Smyrk  shook  her  head. 

"  Fever'n  ager,"  she  replied  lugubriously.  "  Seems  like 
they  kain't  git  shet  o'  chills.  Smyrk'll  have  a  big  doctor's 
bill  ter  pay." 

She  made  this  announcement  with,  apparently,  a  certain 
relish. 

"  Nonsense  I  "  said  Lydia,  "  you  know  that'll  be  Papa's 
affair." 

"  Hit  don't  'pear  ter  me    ter   be  right "    began    Mrs. 

Smyrk,  following  an  accustomed  form  of  protest,  which  was 
always  overcome,  but  Lydia  rising,  cut  short  her  demurrer. 

"  Well,  I  hope  they'll  soon  be  running  about." 

She  had  a  suspicion  that  they  were  even  now  off  in  the 
woods  or  the  fields,  for  the  house  was  strangely  quiet,  and 
they  were  a  turbulent,  noisy  pack.  But  she  had  never  known 
them  to  be  without  some  distressing  ailment  ;  their  mother's 
imagination  was  tireless  in  ascribing  to  them  all  sorts  of  ills. 

Lydia  turned  away  with  a  blithe  leave-taking  which  only 
deepened  the  gloom  on  Mrs.  Smyrk's  face,  and  hastened  on 
towards  the  barn,  which  stood  on  an  elevation  about  a  fur- 


84  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

long  away  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine.  "  The  barn  " 
was  a  group  of  buildings,  including  a  large  brick  granary, 
corn-cribs,  and  sheds  of  logs  thatched  with  straw  for  shel 
tering  cattle.  The  enclosure  was  divided  into  pounds  for  the 
live  stock,  and  beyond  the  granary  lay  a  large  threshing- 
yard  which  contained  great  ricks  and  stacks  of  straw  and  hay. 
The  threshing-yard  had  been  a  favourite  playground  for  Lydia 
as  a  child.  There  was  no  amusement  more  exciting  for  her 
than  to  climb  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  tall  stacks  and  then 
slide  swiftly  down  the  steep  incline  to  be  buried  in  the 
fragrant  depths  of  straw  at  the  bottom.  She  wasn't  sure 
she  wouldn't  find  it  delightful,  even  now. 

When  Lydia  and  Basil  reached  the  spot,  they  found  the 
cows  collected  in  one  of  the  pounds  for  milking.  Lydia 
wandered  fearlessly  among  them,  in  spite  of  a  warning  from 
Cynthy,  the  dairy-woman,  a  wiry  little  negress,  that  some  of 
them  were  "  wicious,  "  and  paused,  now  and  then,  to  stroke 
an  old  favourite.  Cynthy,  fearing  the  results  of  Young  Miss's 
rashness,  beckoned  to  a  negro  urchin  squatting  on  the  fence 
and  bade  him  "  keep  nigh  "  her.  Marse  Basil  might  suffice 
to  protect  her,  but  Cynthy  felt  that,  with  Friz  to  watch  over 
her,  she  was  safe  from  any  possible  harm.  Friz  was  an 
expert  in  managing  cattle.  Armed  with  along  leather  whip, 
which  he  "  cracked  "  with  a  noise  like  the  report  of  a  pistol, 
he  flitted  about  among  the  formidable  beasts — elusive,  un 
tiring,  bold  to  the  verge  of  audacity,  pausing  only  to  inflict 
a  sting,  a  human  hornet  that  the  wildest  of  them  feared. 
Even  the  surly  old  bull  struck  his  colours  to  Friz  and  grew 
meekly  docile  when  the  tiny  despot  approached  him,  flour 
ishing  his  whip.  Friz  followed  Young  Miss  about  with  a 
pompous  air  of  protection.  His  services,  however,  were  not 
needed.  The  cows,  without  exception,  behaved  most  amia 
bly.  Perhaps  they  divined  that  Lydia  was  their  friend. 

The   sun  had  sunk  to  the  surface  of  the  river,   which 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  85 

gleamed,  a  ribbon  of  silver,  in  the  distance.  The  scene  was 
full  of  that  peace  and  serenity  which  invest  even  the  dullest 
landscape  with  a  certain  charm  at  the  close  of  the  day. 
Everything  seemed  to  feel  the  soothing  influence  of  the 
coming  night.  The  very  attitudes  of  the  cattle  suggested 
quiet  and  repose.  In  the  sunset  glow,  the  reddish  walls  of 
the  granary  contrasted  strongly  with  the  pale  gold  of  the 
straw  stacks  and  the  grayish  tones  of  the  sheds. 

Lydia's  tour  of  inspection  ended  here.  Her  curiosity  was 
slaked  for  to-day.  To-morrow,  she  would  go  farther  afield, 
to  the  tenant  houses,  the  negro  cabins  scattered  over  the 
estate,  and  so  on,  day  by  day,  until  she  had  re-explored  the 
whole  domain.  Ah,  how  delightful  to  feel  that  there  was  to 
be  no  limit  to  her  wanderings —  that  she  was  here  for  good ! 
Thus  far,  it  was  all  the  same.  No  changes  of  moment  had 
occurred  during  her  absence.  Nor  was  there  any  difference 
in  her  impressions.  It  was  this  she  had  feared  most  of  all. 
There  was  little  likelihood  of  any  serious  changes  in  the 
Manor  itself — certainly  none  that  were  rash  or  arbitrary. 
It  was  a  finished  place,  and  the  family  were  so  proud  of  it 
that  any  radical  alteration  would  have  been  regarded  as  ir 
reverent.  Even  her  brother,  Turlo,  impetuous  and  head 
strong  as  he  was,  would  probably  hesitate  a  long  time,  when 
he  came  to  be  master,  to  fell  an  old  tree  or  even  to  change 
the  course  of  a  fence.  But  Lydia  had  been  haunted  by 
anxiety  as  to  how  it  would  look  to  her  when  she  returned. 
It  might  be  that  the  house,  which  she  remembered  as  so  big 
and  imposing,  would  seem  but  an  ordinary,  commonplace 
building.  The  favourite  nooks  in  the  garden  and  along  the 
cove  which  had  so  many  tender  associations  for  her  might 
have  lost  their  charm.  Even  the  negroes  might  lack  the 
characteristics  with  which  her  memory  had  endowed  them. 
Her  aunts,  anxious  to  reconcile  her  to  their  ways,  had  sought 
to  temper  her  recollections,  predicting  confidently  that  she 


86  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

would  be  more  or  less  disappointed  upon  her  return.  She 
had  resisted  passionately  the  idea  of  such  a  change,  but  nev 
ertheless,  had  secretly  feared  it.  What  a  relief  to  find  that 
her  apprehension  was  unfounded  1  Her  old  impressions 
had  been  renewed  ;  if  anything,  they  were  stronger,  more 
vivid. 

Returning  to  the  house  by  way  of  the  garden,  Lydia  and 
Basil  reached  the  front  lawn  just  as  the  sun  was  shedding 
its  last  crimson  rays.  The  long  avenue  of  elms  was  bathed 
in  reddish  mist  which  gave  a  purple  tinge  to  their  huge  gray 
boles  and  caused  the  boldly  arching  branches  to  fade  away 
in  the  distance  like  the  rafters  of  some  vast  cathedral  shroud 
ed  in  a  cloud  of  incense.  The  noble  nave  of  Nature's  ar 
chitecture  was,  in  truth,  at  this  moment,  a  sylvan  temple 
radiant  in  the  setting  sun.  Near  a  clump  of  pines  at  the 
western  boundary  of  the  lawn,  some  Southdown  sheep  were 
grazing  under  the  care  of  a  gray-coated  old  negro  who  was 
leaning  lazily  against  a  corner  of  the  graveyard  wall. 
Through  the  slender,  swaying  pines,  the  narrowed  reaches 
of  the  river  flashed  in  bright  glimpses  here  and  there.  The 
moon,  now  full,  had  risen,  and  hung,  a  globe  of  luminous 
pink,  in  the  deep  blue  of  the  eastern  sky.  Lydia  drew  a 
long  breath.  She  felt  the  spot  had  never  before  possessed 
so  great  a  charm.  It  was  touched  by  a  fleeting  beauty  that 
might  never  again  present  itself  to  her. 

"  Ah,  Basil  !  "  she  sighed,  "  I  wonder  if  you  realise  how 
happy  I  am  !  " 

He  smiled,  not  thinking  it  necessary  to  answer  her.  If 
he  did  not  realise  it,  who  could  ?  No  one  else  could  possibly 
comprehend  her  as  he  did.  Had  they  not  always  shared 
their  most  hidden  thoughts  and  impressions  ?  From  the 
moment  they  had  left  the  house,  he  had  responded  instinct 
ively  to  every  change  of  mood  and  feeling,  as  it  registered 
itself  upon  her  sensitive  face.  He  rejoiced  for  his  own  sake 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  87 

in  her  eager  interest  in  everything,  her  freshened  delight  in 
her  home  ;  they  seemed  a  hopeful  indication  for  him.  He 
had  noted  with  special  satisfaction  her  curiosity  about 
certain  details  of  the  plantation  work.  It  seemed  to  him 
keener,  less  easily  satisfied,  than  of  old  ;  she  asked  him 
many  questions  of  distinctly  practical  bent.  He  had  no  doubt 
that,  at  the  bottom  of  her  affection  for  the  Manor,  lay  an 
undeveloped  instinct  of  utility  which  was  not  prosaic,  an 
instinct  common  among  girls  who  had  been  reared,  as  she 
had  been,  in  the  simplicity  of  country  life.  The  Manor, 
for  her,  was  the  scene  of  a  constantly  moving  drama,  in 
which,  sooner  or  later,  she  would  become  an  important 
figure,  as  all  the  women  of  the  family  had  been.  Like  them, 
she  would  have  her  part  to  play  to  keep  its  machinery 
going.  She  loved  the  place,  not  merely  because  of  its  as 
sociations,  but  because  its  various  activities  appealed  to  an 
inherited  predilection.  In  time,  no  doubt,  the  spirit  of  the 
plantation  mistress,  eager  to  share  in  the  control  of  this  com 
plicated  mechanism,  would  awake  in  her. 

The  plantation  mistress  !  To  Basil's  mind,  there  was  no 
finer  type  of  womanhood.  To  be  a  plantation  mistress,  in 
the  truest  sense,  was  to  be  the  source  of  order,  of  happiness, 
of  all  the  refining  influences  of  a  patriarchal  home.  The 
mistress  of  a  large  plantation  held  in  her  hands  the  do 
mestic  control  of  perhaps  a  hundred  slaves  and  the  comfort, 
health,  well-being  of  her  husband  and  her  children.  She 
was  the  centre  to  which  everything  tended.  The  slaves 
looked  to  her  for  their  slightest  wants.  They  counted  con 
fidently  upon  her  in  sickness  or  sorrow.  Her  children 
turned  to  her  for  guidance,  sympathy,  unwearying  love. 
Her  husband  regarded  her  as  his  mentor,  indulgent  of  his 
faults  yet  holding  before  him  steadily  a  fixed  standard  of 
purity  and  self-denial.  And  all  these  requirements  were 
fulfilled  so  often  with  overflowing  measure  in  a  single  in- 


88  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

dividual,  that  it  is  no  wonder  the  attitude  of  Southern  men 
toward  the  weaker  sex,  so  called,  was  generally  one  of 
reverence  and  devotion.  Basil  simply  shared  the  common 
feeling  of  his  class.  He  could  think  of  no  nobler,  more 
inspiring  vocation  for  any  woman. 

Lydia,  it  seemed  to  him,  had  entered  unconsciously  upon 
this  path.  Gradually,  her  energies  would  be  enlisted  in 
appropriate  forms  of  usefulness  to  those  about  her.  Sub 
jected  to  the  influences  to  which  she  seemed  already  to 
respond,  her  character,  he  did  not  doubt,  would  develop, 
finally,  on  lines  which  would  bring  her  even  closer,  in  sym 
pathies  and  tastes,  to  him — a  planter,  heart  and  soul.  Per 
haps  his  devotion  might  appeal  to  her  then,  in  spite  of  his 
deficiencies.  Ah,  if  that  could  be  1 

Lydia  lingered  until  the  glow  had  quite  faded  out,  and 
then  turned  reluctantly  towards  the  house. 


CHAPTER    IX 

THEY  found  the  family  gathered  in  the  main  body  of  the 
hall,  awaiting  the  summons  to  tea.  The  hall  was  divided 
by  quaint  flattened  archways  into  three  sections.  The 
largest  of  these  formed  a  square  apartment,  with  a  door  and 
windows  opening  on  the  rear  verandah,  which  was  used  as  a 
general  living  room.  One  of  the  smaller  arms  extended 
past  a  broad  walnut  stairway  to  the  housekeeper's  room  and 
the  kitchen  ;  the  other  led  to  the  front  door.  The  living  room 
was  furnished  with  antique  sofas  and  chairs  of  mahogany 
upholstered  in  dark  green  leather  fastened  with  brass-headed 
nails.  In  one  corner,  next  the  stairway,  stood  a  tall  clock 
with  a  dial  plate  of  brass  curiously  engraved.  There  were 
portraits  on  the  walls  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  costumes 
of  different  periods  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  cen 
turies,  some  of  which  were  ascribed  to  Lely  or  Kneller. 

Lydia  halted  suddenly  as  she  came  into  view  of  the 
group.  It  was  one  she  had  often  pictured  in  memory  dur 
ing  the  past  few  months.  No  detail  was  changed.  A 
swinging  lamp  suspended  from  the  ceiling  shed  a  strong 
but  mellow  light  upon  a  spider-legged  table  at  which  was 
seated  Ole  Miss,  busy  with  some  worsted  work.  She  was 
a  resolute  looking  old  lady,  tall  and  strong,  with  clear-cut 
features,  ruddy  cheeks,  dark,  piercing  eyes,  and  a  mass  of 
snowy  hair  piled  high  on  her  shapely  head.  A  few  paces 
from  her  sat  the  Colonel  and  Mr.  Plunkett,  absorbed  in  a 
game  of  chess.  Curled  up  on  a  sofa  at  the  end  of  the  room 
next  the  library,  lay  Turlo,  a  stalwart  young  fellow,  fast 
asleep  after  a  long  run  with  the  hounds.  The  ex-governess, 
Miss  Twiggs,  seated  bolt  upright  at  a  convenient  distance 

89 


90  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

from  the  light,  was  lost  in  the  last  number  of  Blackwood's 
Magazine. 

Her  stiff,  unbending  figure  looked  alien  here.  One  would 
imagine  she  must  be  out  of  touch  with  the  genial  negligence 
which,  apparently,  prevailed  at  the  Manor.  But  Miss 
Twiggs  was  a  bundle  of  contradictions.  She  fancied  her 
self  to  be  staunchly  and  even  aggressively  English,  in  spite 
of  some  thirty  years  of  expatriation,  and  read  Blackwood 
from  cover  to  cover  religiously,  every  month  because,  in  her 
opinion,  it  reflected  most  accurately  the  militant  British 
spirit.  She  clung  unconsciously  to  certain  habits  and  man 
nerisms  which,  to  her  mind,  were  indispensable  to  a  well- 
conducted  British  female.  Her  spectacled  pug  nose  seemed 
to  be  always  sniffing  suspiciously  at  things.  Most  persons 
thought  her  woodenish,  unadaptable,  "  set "  in  her  ways. 
In  reality,  she  was  a  sentimental  creature,  easily  moved  by 
affection,  and  nervously  anxious  to  conform  as  far  as  she 
could  to  her  environment.  Nowhere  in  the  world — even  in 
England — she  often  said  to  herself,  were  there  kinder,  more 
lovable  people  than  the  Chestons.  They  had  made  her  one 
of  themselves.  When  her  usefulness  as  Lydia's  governess 
had  ended,  she  had  not  been  permitted  to  leave  the  Manor, 
but  had  been  told  she  must  consider  it.  henceforth,  her  home. 
Her  shy,  timid  soul  was  passionately  grateful.  She  strug 
gled  hard  to  provide  herself  with  new  duties — all  of  them 
quite  superfluous — and  laboured  doggedly  at  them  with  true 
British  pertinacity.  Ole  Miss  looked  on  with  grim  amuse 
ment  and  occasionally  invented  some  trifling  task  for  her 
out  of  sheer  compassion. 

Dependents  like  Miss  Twiggs  and  Mr.  Plunkett  were  fa 
miliar  figures  in  the  plantation  houses.  No  one  thought  the 
worse  of  them  for  being  pensioners  upon  a  bounty  which  ex 
pected  no  return.  It  was  an  unwritten  law  of  the  social  sys 
tem  that  the  impecunious,  the  improvident,  even  the  un- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  91 

worthy  must  be  taken  care  of.  In  every  plantation  house, 
there  were  guests  who  stayed  on  and  on,  from  week  to  week, 
from  month  to  month,  from  year  to  year,  and  were  always 
treated  with  the  same  consideration.  The  practice  had  its 
inconveniences.  It  was  open  to  criticism  as  tending  to  en 
courage  a  form  of  pauperism.  But  it  spread  a  glow  of  kind 
liness  over  all  the  relations  of  life.  It  encouraged  a  spirit 
of  mutual  helpfulness,  of  indifference  to  monied  distinctions. 
The  rough  edges  of  social  jealousies  were  worn  away  by  its 
constant  attrition.  It  was  a  modified  form  of  communism, 
not  wise  perhaps,  but  very  captivating  and  not  without  its 
uses  as  a  softening  influence  upon  an  otherwise  narrow,  self- 
centred  caste. 

"  I  shall  take  pity  on  Uncle  Josias,  just  this  once,"  whis 
pered  Lydia  to  Basil.  "  Besides,  they  look  so  comfortable — 
one  and  all — it  would  be  a  shame  to  disturb  them." 

Turning  noiselessly  about,  she  stole  back  a  few  paces  to 
the  parlour  door,  and  opening  it  softly,  entered. 

A  wood-fire  was  burning  brightly,  and  the  dancing  flames 
leaped  up  the  sooty  throat  of  the  chimney  in  writhing  shapes 
of  vivid  hues. 

"  What  a  beautiful  blaze  !  "  exclaimed  Lydia.  "  There 
must  be  some  green  twigs  among  the  logs.  You  can't  get 
those  tints  from  anything  else.  Draw  up  a  chair,  Basil. 
It  has  grown  chilly — don't  you  think  so  ?  How  nice  to  sit 
and  dream  by  an  open  fire  once  more !  Aunts  had  only 
stoves  in  their  house,  and  I  used  to  long  so  for  a  real  fire." 

Basil  placed  a  large  armchair  for  her  close  to  the  hearth, 
and  Lydia  nestled  down  in  it  with  an  air  of  lazy  content 
ment. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  we'll  have  a  good  long  talk  about 
old  times." 

It  was  quite  a  long  talk,  but  Basil  took  but  little  part  in 
it.  Lydia  had  so  much  to  say.  Her  words  flowed  on  in  a 


92  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

steady  stream  of  reminiscence.  It  was  delightful  for  her  to 
unburden  herself  once  more  to  a  sympathetic  listener,  and 
Basil  seldom  interrupted  her  except  with  an  economical 
"  yes  "  or  "  no."  Suddenly,  Lydia  paused,  and  exclaimed 
with  a  laugh,  "  What  a  chatterbox  I  am  1  I  have  scarcely 
permitted  you  to  put  in  a  word  edgeways.  But  there  were 
so  many  things  I  had  to  say  to  you,  Basil — things  that  only 
you  would  understand  1  " 

"  Don't  stop,"  said  Basil  hastily,  "  if  you  knew  how  much 
I  enjoyed  listening  to  you  once  more  — "  He  checked  him 
self  in  confusion.  Another  word,  and  he  might  have  be 
trayed  his  secret.  Her  artless  confidence  in  his  sympathy 
had  been  dangerously  sweet  and  alluring. 

"  You  really  missed  me  then  ?  "  she  demanded,  pretend 
ing  to  be  in  doubt. 

"  Missed  you  1 "  he  exclaimed,  involuntarily  bending 
towards  her ;  "  you  can't  imagine  how  dreary  it  was  for  me." 

"  Dreary,  here,  in  the  country  ?  You  were  not  in  town  ; 
you  didn't  have  to  live  with  Aunts." 

"  ~But}>0u  were  not  here." 

He  bent  still  lower  ;  his  head  was  near  hers  ;  he  laid  a 
hand  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

She  glanced  at  him  with  a  feeling  half-mischievous,  half- 
curious. 

"  Do  I  count  for  as  much  as  all  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  All  that,  and  more  !  "  he  answered  quickly,  and  yielding 
to  a  sudden  impulse,  he  seized  the  little  hand  that  rested  so 
confidingly  near  his  own,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  "  I 
love  you,  Lydia,  with  all  my  soul  1 " 

He  had  forgotten  everything.  His  fine  resolutions,  which 
he  had  thought  so  firm,  had  melted  like  wax  in  a  flame.  He 
was  conscious  only  of  the  sweet  oval  face ;  of  the  dark  eyes 
that  glowed  so  lustrously  in  the  firelight ;  of  the  slim,  pliant 
figure  reclining  with  easy  grace  in  the  great  armchair.  This 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  93 

was  not  the  child-Lydia,  but  a  lovely  young  woman,  uncon 
sciously  provocative,  who  had  carelessly  challenged  him 
with  a  question  which  had  set  his  passion  free. 

Lydia  sprang  to  her  feet  and  snatched  her  hand  away. 
She  stood  gazing  down  at  him,  white  and  trembling.  Her 
soul  was  in  a  tumult  of  maidenly  recoil,  of  fierce  impatience 
out  of  all  proportion  to  Basil's  offence.  Most  girls  would 
have  found  it  easy  to  excuse  him  ;  their  pride  would  have 
been  flattered,  even  though  they  had  been  quite  indifferent 
to  him.  Her  pride  was  wounded  in  its  most  sensitive  spot. 
The  influences  which  had  hitherto  shaped  her  life  had  de 
veloped  prejudices  as  well  as  some  strong  inclinations  un 
usual  in  young  girls.  The  interests  which  absorbed  her 
were  actively  inimical  to  the  growth  of  those  instincts  which 
blossom  forth  with  the  dawn  of  womanhood  in  most  of  her 
sex. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  the  girls  at  school,  she  was 
very  backward,  decidedly  "  queer."  She  was  not  only  un 
sophisticated  and  incurious,  but  actually  scornful  of  their 
budding  love-affairs,  their  little  vanities  of  person  and  of 
dress.  When  they  undertook  to  talk  to  her  of  this  or  that 
"  fascinating  "  young  man,  her  mouth  showed  careless  dis 
dain,  her  great  eyes  studied  them  with  chill  contempt.  The 
only  effect  of  their  confidences  was  to  excite  in  her  a  keener 
sense  of  the  pettiness  of  their  tastes,  their  ambitions,  as  con 
trasted  with  the  strong,  virile  impulses  which  stirred  her  so 
pleasurably.  What  was  one  of  their  insipid  flirtations  com 
pared  with  the  keen  enjoyment  she  had  so  often  felt  in  a 
wild  gallop  after  the  hounds,  the  mad  plunging  of  a  canoe 
in  a  gale  ?  They  actually  set  her  against  "  beaux  "  as  a 
class  and  made  her  intolerant  of  the  idea  of  love  as  they 
construed  it.  She  was  as  shy  as  any  nun  ;  as  jealous  of  her 
liberty  as  a  young  savage. 

No  pretty  girl  can  long  remain  unconscious  of  the  admi- 


94  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

ration  she  excites,  but  Lydia,  from  the  first,  had  been  more 
or  less  impatient  of  attentions  from  young  men.  Few  of 
them  seemed  to  her  as  interesting  as  her  horse  or  her  dog. 
She  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  their  gaining  the  least  in 
fluence  over  her.  Basil  was  the  only  one  of  them  all  in 
whose  favour  she  had  made  an  exception,  and  much  of  the 
confidence  she  felt  in  him  was  due  not  merely  to  habit  but 
to  the  fact  that  he  seemed  as  indifferent  as  herself  to  such 
nonsense  and  was  not  likely  ever  to  annoy  her  in  that  way. 
And  now,  he  had  shown  himself  to  be  like  those  others, 
those  smirking  dandies,  who  flattered  themselves  they  might 
be  able  to  please  her  !  He  had  even  gone  farther  than  any 
of  them  had  ever  ventured ;  he  had  actually  dared  to  lay 
hands  on  her !  He  loved  her ;  that  was  his  excuse.  Of 
course  he  loved  her.  Had  they  not  always  been  fond  of 
each  other  ?  But  this  was  different.  Love,  to  her  mind, 
meant  nothing  more  than  strong  affection.  She  felt  the 
presence,  in  Basil's  act,  of  a  rough,  importunate  force  that 
frightened  and  incensed  her.  She  would  not  yield  to  it. 
No  one  should  take  her  captive.  And  Basil,  of  all  people  ! 
Had  he  not  been  the  most  submissive  of  her  subjects  ? 

"  I  hate  you  1  I  hate  you !  "  she  said  suddenly,  with  a 
stamp  of  her  foot.  In  a  flash,  she  had  turned  from  him  and 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER  X 

BASIL  sat  a  long  time,  with  bowed  head,  before  the  fire, 
gazing  vacantly  at  the  curling  flames.  Lydia's  anger  seemed 
to  him  perfectly  natural.  It  was  precisely  what  he  might 
have  expected.  In  a  moment  of  folly,  he  had  brought  upon 
himself  the  very  disaster  he  had  dreaded.  He  suffered,  not 
only  from  the  knowledge  that  he  had  shocked  and  wounded 
her,  but  from  shame  at  his  weakness.  He  had  fancied  him 
self  so  strong  and  at  the  first  moment  of  temptation,  he  had 
succumbed  as  feebly  as  any  child.  Why  shouldn't  she  hate 
him  ?  He  hated  himself.  And  even  if  she  could  bring  her 
self  to  forgive  him,  would  he  not  be,  henceforth,  another  in 
dividual  to  her  ?  Her  childish  confidence  in  him  was  gone ; 
she  would  at  once  begin  to  weigh,  to  judge,  him.  He  could 
not  bear  the  thought  of  meeting  her  eyes,  no  longer  trustful 
and  affectionate,  but  critical,  speculative,  perhaps  with  a 
gleam  of  scorn  in  them. 

The  tea-bell  rang,  and  Basil  joined  the  group  in  the  hall. 
Lydia  was  not  there.  The  Colonel  told  him  she  had  de 
cided  to  stay  upstairs  with  her  mother.  He  was  glad  of  her 
absence ;  it  gave  him  a  little  respite  from,  the  verdict  he 
dreaded  to  read  in  her  gaze.  At  the  tea  table,  he  bore  his 
part  in  the  conversation  but  lamely,  and  breathed  a  sigh  of 
relief  when,  at  last,  after  a  long  political  discussion  between 
the  Colonel  and  Mr.  Plunkett  in  the  library  over  their  pipes, 
he  was  enabled  to  say  good-night  and  retire  to  his  room. 
But  the  night  proved  a  weary  vigil  for  him.  His  excited 
brain  was  crowded  with  tormenting  fancies,  and  he  found  it 
impossible  to  sleep.  He  thought  of  Lydia  in  all  her  varying 
moods  and  always  came  back  to  the  one  idea  that  his  own 

95 


96  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

rashness  had  cut  him  off  from  her  irrevocably.  At  the  very 
moment  of  his  discovery  of  the  nature  of  his  feeling  for  her, 
he  had  flung  away  his  only  claim  upon  her  favour.  It  was 
barely  possible  he  might  have  won  her,  in  the  absence  of 
any  stronger  ^  claim,  by  gradual  approaches  through  the 
medium  of  her  habitual  confidence  and  affection,  but 
now 

In  a  fever  of  restlessness,  he  rose  at  daybreak,  and  dress 
ing  hastily,  went  down  into  the  garden,  hoping  to  find  re 
freshment  in  the  cool  morning  air.  As  it  happened,  he 
turned  into  the  avenue  of  pines  which  Lydia  and  he  had 
trod  so  happily  the  previous  day.  There  had  been  a  heavy 
dew,  and  as  the  sun  crept  towards  the  horizon,  crimsoning 
the  eastern  sky,  the  jonquils  and  violets,  blossoming  on  each 
side  of  his  path,  lifted  their  petals  lazily  as  though  drowsy 
from  deep  potations  over  night.  There  was  a  delicious 
freshness  in  the  damp  breath  of  dawn.  Tiny  drops  of  water 
glittered  like  diamonds  and  rubies  on  the  taller  blades  of 
grass.  The  robins  hopping  about  on  the  lawn  seemed  to 
have  just  come  from  a  bath,  so  spruce  and  bright  was  their 
red  and  gray  plumage.  Profound  stillness  reigned  at  first, 
but  it  was  broken  shortly  by  the  crowing  of  cocks  and  the 
lowing  of  cattle.  A  vague  murmur  from  the  Quarter  an 
nounced  that  the  negroes  were  astir. 

Basil  drew  near  the  house,  intending  to  return  to  his  room 
and  dress  for  breakfast.  The  sounds  of  shutters  thrown 
open,  overhead,  arrested  his  steps  at  the  edge  of  the  ver 
andah.  Looking  up,  he  saw  Lydia  at  one  of  the  windows. 
Fortunately,  she  was  gazing  out  upon  the  lawn  and  did  not 
discover  him  standing  almost  beneath  her.  She  had  thrown 
on  a  dressing-gown  and  hastened  to  the  window  for  a  glimpse 
of  the  fresh  morning  beauty  of  the  garden.  Her  richly  tint 
ed  hair  fell  in  curly  disorder  about  her  shoulders,  and  her 
eyes  were  still  heavy  with  sleep.  With  elbows  resting  on 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  97 

the  sill,  she  leaned  well  out  of  the  window,  her  slender  hands 
buried  in  the  vagrant  tresses  which  had  tumbled  about  her 
face.  » 

The  birds  were  now  in  full  chorus.  She  listened  intently 
to  learn  if  she  could  still  identify  them  by  their  distinguishing 
notes,  as  she  had  been  able  to  do  before  leaving  home.  Yes, 
she  remembered  them  all — the  steady,  monotonous  chirp  of 
blackbirds  swarming  in  the  Lombardy  poplars  ;  the  musical 
warble  of  house  wrens  perched  along  the  roof ;  the  sweet 
song,  all  too  brief,  of  thrushes  in  distant  thickets — a  song 
of  liquid,  refreshing  melody,  that  always  reminded  her  of  the 
murmur  of  a  brook  on  a  hot  summer  day.  Her  face  bright 
ened.  She  was  really  at  home !  A  few  moments  before, 
she  had  been  dreaming  she  was  still  at  her  Aunts'. 

Basil  watched  her  with  a  keen  sense  of  loss.  He  no  longer 
had  any  part  in  her  enjoyment.  If  she  thought  of  him,  it 
would  be  with  a  feeling  of  resentment,  of  alienation.  Fear 
ful  of  attracting  her  notice,  he  stepped  noiselessly  upon  the 
verandah  and  entered  the  house. 

When  they  encountered  each  other  at  the  breakfast  table, 
Lydia's  manner  was  shy  and  constrained.  Throughout  the 
meal,  she  eyed  him  furtively,  but  looked  hastily  away  when 
ever  their  glances  met.  Basil  was  on  thorns.  He  dare  not 
speak  to  her  lest  she  repulse  him  curtly  even  in  the  presence 
of  others.  He  recalled  the  eager  desire  she  had  expressed 
the  day  before  to  visit  the  Indian  Spring  in  quest  of  arbutus, 
and  thought,  with  a  pang,  that  she  would  no  longer  welcome 
his  companionship  on  such  excursions.  They  implied  an 
intimacy  which,  it  seemed  to  him,  was  impossible,  now  that 
he  had  destroyed  her  trust  in  him.  If  she  were  merely  cool 
to  him  instead  of  being  actively  hostile — was  not  that  more 
than  he  had  reason  to  expect  ?  Fortunately,  the  others  at 
table  were  talkative,  and  no  one  noticed  their  mutual  em 
barrassment.  When  they  finally  rose,  it  was  a  relief  to  each  of 
7 


98  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

them  to  find  themselves  at  opposite  ends  of  the  room.  Lydia 
had  started  upstairs  when  Basil  reached  the  hall. 

An  hour  later,  Lydia  appeared  in  the  library,  where  Basil 
was  vainly  endeavouring  to  read  a  book  he  had  found  absorb 
ing  but  a  few  days  before.  She  was  in  a  dark  green  riding- 
habit  and  held  a  small  whip  in  one  hand.  She  glanced  at 
Basil  hesitatingly,  and  suddenly,  seemed  to  come  to  a  re 
solve. 

"  I  am  going  to  church,  Basil,"  she  said.  "  It  is  a  splendid 
morning  for  a  gallop  ;  will  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

It  was  Sunday  ;  he  had  forgotten  that.  He  rose,  slowly, 
uncertain  whether  she  was  in  earnest.  Could  she  have  for 
given  him  ?  Was  it  possible  she  meant  to  ignore  what  had 
happened,  to  admit  him  to  her  confidence  once  more  ? 

Hardly  that,  but  affection  was  stirring  in  her ;  she  could 
not  banish  the  memory  of  their  pleasant  companionship ; 
she  was  moved  by  the  inclination  of  habit  which  contended 
strongly  with  her  sense  of  injury.  A  spice  of  curiosity  also 
tempted  her.  The  love  of  which  Basil  had  spoken  as  if  it 
explained  his  new  relation  to  her  might  be  worthy  of  con 
sideration,  after  all.  She  began  to  feel  the  fascination  of 
its  mystery,  its  possible  danger,  and  danger  always  attracted 
her.  It  had  clearly  exerted  a  powerful  influence  over  him. 
How  else  could  he,  who  had  always  been  so  sober,  so  sensi 
ble,  so  self-possessed  have  suddenly  turned  silly  ?  Could 
those  moon-sick  girls  whom  she  had  so  often  derided  be 
right  ?  Was  there  an  intoxication  in  some  kinds  of  love  that 
made  people  foolish  ?  Had  it  been  her  misfortune  to  turn 
Basil's  head  ?  It  was  a  misfortune  ;  if  he  wanted  her  as 
much  as  he  had  seemed  to  want  her,  he  was  doomed  to  a 
heavy  disappointment.  She  would  never  yield  to  him — 
never  I 

Her  anger  cooled  at  thought  of  the  grief  she  might  have 
to  cause  him — poor  old  Basil !  It  would  be  a  kindness  to 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  gg 

him — so  she  innocently  persuaded  herself — to  find  out,  if 
she  could,  what  his  real  condition  was,  so  that  she  might  be 
the  better  able  to  nip  the  thing  in  the  bud  without  hurting  him 
too  much.  She  knew  very  well  how  to  worm  secrets  out  of 
him  ;  he  could  never  hide  anything  from  her.  In  her  igno 
rance,  she  had  no  idea  of  the  motive  that  really  prompted 
her.  It  was  the  passion  in  his  avowal  that  attracted  her 
most  of  all.  Her  scorn  of  sentiment  and  romance  was  but 
the  superficial  product  of  her  girlish  intolerance.  The  woman 
was  waking  in  her,  though  she  did  not  know  it.  Her  ardent 
nature  had  in  it  depths  that  she  little  suspected ;  for  the  first 
time,  they  were  stirred  by  an  elemental  force.  She  was 
quivering  on  the  brink  of  the  great  discovery,  which  comes 
to  all  women,  sooner  or  later,  of  the  special  power,  the  un- 
imagined  capacities  of  their  sex. 

Basil's  hopes,  which  he  had  distrusted  from  the  first,  faded 
suddenly  when  they  set  out  on  horseback  for  church. 
Lydia  did  not  start  with  him  at  once,  as  she  would  have 
done  the  day  before,  but  waited  for  the  family  coach  in 
which  Ole  Miss,  the  Colonel,  Mr.  Plunkett  and  Miss  Twiggs 
always  went  to  church.  Evidently,  Basil  reasoned,  she  did 
not  wish  to  be  alone  with  him.  He  was  confirmed  in  this 
belief  by  the  fact  that,  on  the  way,  she  curbed  in  Knight, 
so  as  to  keep  close  to  the  lumbering  coach,  and  it  was  only 
when  they  fell  behind,  that  she  was  able  to  indulge  herself 
in  the  coveted  gallop.  The  fact  was,  she  was  still  a  trifle 
shy  of  Basil  and  was  cautiously  feeling  her  way.  Besides, 
she  had  no  notion  of  admitting  him  to  favour  again  too 
readily ;  he  must  be  punished — just  a  little.  But  Basil 
feared  she  meant  to  set  him  at  a  distance,  to  make  him  feel 
that  he  was  reduced  to  the  ranks  of  a  more  or  less  formal 
acquaintance.  It  would  have  been  less  unkind,  he  thought, 
had  she  avoided  him  altogether ;  he  would  at  least  have 
been  spared  the  bitter  disappointment  which  had  followed 


ioo  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

so  swiftly  the  offer  of  pardon  she  had  seemed  to  hold  out 
to  him. 

The  coach  wound  its  way  slowly  through  a  silent  wood 
which  was  radiant  with  the  tender  beauty  of  spring.  Its 
misty  gray  recesses  were  brightened  with  the  golden  tints 
of  the  spice  bush,  the  pink  of  the  Judas  tree,  the  red  or 
silvery  green  of  the  budding  leaves  of  oaks.  At  length, 
the  soft  notes  of  the  church  bell  were  heard  close  at  hand. 
The  last  stroke  had  just  died  away,  when  the  coach  brought 
up  at  the  door,  and  old  Csesar,  hat  in  hand,  descended  from 
his  perch  to  let  down  the  carpeted  steps  for  Ole  Miss. 

Old  Winton  was  one  of  the  earlier  colonial  churches  of 
which  a  few  still  remain  in  quiet  villages  or  secluded  country 
neighbourhoods  of  Tidewater  Maryland.  With  their  ivy- 
clad  walls  of  mottled  brick  and  their  quaintly  shaped,  moss- 
covered  roofs,  they  bear  a  family  resemblance  to  the  old 
plantation  houses,  the  ancient  graveyards,  the  abandoned 
roadside  inns — the  only  memorials  now  left  of  conditions 
long  since  obsolete.  The  church  stood  in  a  large  enclosure 
shaded  by  venerable  oaks.  In  one  corner  of  the  church 
yard,  overlooking  a  smiling  valley,  nestled  the  Rectory,  a 
hip-roofed,  rambling  house  of  the  same  red  and  gray  brick, 
highly  glazed,  that  had  been  used  in  building  the  church. 
Attached  to  it  was  a  glebe  farm  of  a  hundred  acres  or  more. 
Beyond  it,  lining  the  public  road,  were  a  few  straggling 
houses  descending  a  steep  hill  to  a  stream.  On  the  banks 
of  the  latter,  stood  a  mill  weather-boarded  with  shingles,  gray 
with  age,  which  gave  the  name  Winton  Mills  to  the  hamlet. 
Why  the  plural  was  used,  no  one  could  tell ;  there  had  been 
but  one  mill  from  time  immemorial. 

Basil  helped  Lydia  to  alight,  and  having  fastened  their 
horses,  escorted  her  to  the  family  pew.  Only  Uncle  Josias 
was  missing.  He  had  loitered  behind  at  the  door,  to  ex 
change  bits  of  gossip  with  his  cronies  collected  in  groups 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  101 

on  each  side  of  the  narrow  brick  walk  and  forming  a 
gauntlet  through  which  the  worshippers  must  pass.  At 
these  Sunday  conferences,  Mr.  Plunkett  obtained  material 
for  piquant  conversation  for  the  rest  of  the  week. 

Lydia  was  very  devout  throughout  the  service.  Religion 
was  no  mere  abstraction  for  her.  Her  belief  was  vivid,  her 
creed  a  genuine  thing.  Had  she  not  been  so  joyous  a  young 
creature,  she  might  easily  have  become  a  devotee.  She 
accepted  the  tenets  of  her  church  as  they  had  been  taught 
her  with  eager  faith.  They  seemed  to  her  very  beautiful 
and  real.  She  was  too  young  yet  to  analyse,  to  investigate, 
to  doubt.  No  serious  grief  had  ever  disturbed  her ;  she 
had  suffered  no  shock  to  her  unquestioning  trust  and  con 
fidence  in  God  who  had  been  so  good.  Basil  watched  her 
with  a  new  sense  of  her  simplicity,  her  utter  unconscious 
ness.  More  than  ever,  it  seemed  to  him  indelicate  to  whisper 
passion  to  this  virginal  mind. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  Manor,  Lydia  again  measured 
Knight's  pace  by  that  of  the  coach,  but  not  so  carefully,  and 
once  she  checked  him  to  a  walk,  and  then  set  off  for  a  longer 
gallop  than  any  she  had  yet  permitted  herself.  After  dinner, 
she  turned  to  Basil  instinctively,  to  accompany  her,  as  had 
been  his  habit,  to  the  housekeeper's  room  for  the  Sunday 
afternoon  services  for  the  slaves.  These  were  always  con 
ducted  by  Ole  Miss,  except  when  a  clergyman,  or  perhaps 
the  bishop  of  the  diocese,  was  staying  at  the  Manor.  On 
this  occasion,  Ole  Miss  was  seated  at  one  end  of  the  room, 
with  Bible  and  Prayer  Book  on  a  table  beside  her.  She 
wore  the  dress  in  which  she  had  appeared  at  church — a 
heavy  black  silk,  with  collar  and  cuffs  of  lace,  the  former 
fastened  by  a  cameo  brooch.  On  her  head,  rested  an  elab 
orate  structure  of  cambric  and  ribbons.  As  she  sat  thus, 
stiff  and  straight,  facing  a  compact  assemblage  of  dusky 
worshippers,  she  had  a  benevolently  dominating  air.  The 


102 

negroes  all  knew  it  would  be  unwise  to  nod  or  show  other 
signs  of  inattention  in  her  presence.  Nothing  escaped  her 
keen,  searching  eyes.  For  them,  she  was  the  embodiment  of 
vigilant  authority,  the  meter  out  of  punishments,  the  dis 
penser  of  rewards. 

Ole  Miss  read  a  chapter  from  the  Bible  and  then  asked 
the  usual  questions  from  the  Church  Catechism,  which  were 
answered  by  young  and  old  in  a  quaint  sing-song.  This  was 
followed  by  Evening  Service,  the  prayers  ending  with  unctuous 
"  Amens  "  from  the  negroes,  after  which  Ole  Miss  "  gave 
out "  several  hymns.  These  were  sung  with  great  spirit,  even 
Aunt  Sukey  and  Uncle  Ike,  the  aged  story-teller,  wit  and  oracle 
of  the  Quarter,  joining  in  with  their  cracked  and  piping  trebles. 
There  was  one  hymn  that  was  never  omitted,  the  hymn 
which,  at  "  Ole  Marster,"  the  Judge's,  death-bed,  had  been 
sung  by  the  slaves  assembled  to  take  leave  of  him.  When 
the  familiar  strain  began,  Ole  Miss  always  closed  her  eyes 
to  hide  the  moisture  that  gathered  in  them,  and  sometimes, 
she  brushed  away  a  tear.  She  was  not  given  to  emotion. 
Her  sturdy  spirit  was  impatient  of  weakness  in  herself  or 
others,  and  by  many,  she  was  regarded  as  hard  and  unsym 
pathetic.  In  reality,  her  nature  was  as  strong  in  its  af 
fections  as  in  its  courage  and  self-will.  The  negroes  feared 
her,  but  they  loved  her  as  well.  They  could  neither  deceive 
nor  disobey  her  with  impunity,  but  they  knew  they  could 
count  upon  her  ministrations  in  suffering  or  distress. 

When  the  hymns  were  ended,  Ole  Miss  delivered  a  short 
impromptu  homily,  and  then  addressed  each  member  of 
the  group  in  turn,  inquiring  into  various  ailments,  com 
plaints,  transgressions.  Some  were  admonished ;  others 
were  promised  indulgence  or  help.  In  all,  was  renewed  the 
sense  of  firm,  beneficent  control. 

Lydia  always  watched  her  grandmother  admiringly  on 
these  occasions.  She  seemed  so  strong,  so  capable,  so  wise. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  103 

Occasionally,  however,  she  was  moved  to  intercede  at  the 
muttered  entreaty  of  some  delinquent  or  to  beg  some  special 
favour  for  a  wheedling  petitioner  like  old  Aunt  Sukey.  Ole 
Miss  listened  with  a  sternly  judicial  air,  but  often  ended  by 
granting  her  request.  Even  she  could  not  resist  Lydia's  coax 
ing.  The  negroes  knew  it  was  the  surest  road  to  her  favour, 
but  they  were  shrewd  enough  to  use  it  sparingly.  It  was  a  last 
resort  when  all  else  failed. 

As  they  left  the  room,  Basil,  feeling  he  had  little  to  gain 
by  staying  longer,  said, 

"  I  must  go  home,  Lydia  ;  good-bye." 

"  Must  you,  really  ?  "  she  asked,  glancing  at  him  quickly, 
with  a  slightly  satirical  smile — she  had  noted  reluctance  in 
his  voice.  "You  forget  our  visit  to  the  Indian  Spring." 

Basil's  face  lit  up  with  glad  surprise.  She  still  wished 
him  to  go  with  her.  He  was  not  to  be  excluded  altogether 
from  privileged  attendance  on  her.  But  why  had  she  soft 
ened  so  suddenly  ?  Had  she  worked  out  for  herself  the 
problem  of  his  conduct  in  the  parlour,  and  realised  that  his 
rashness  implied  no  violence,  no  menace,  but  was,  in  fact,  a 
dedication  of  himself  to  her,  a  declaration  of  more  absolute 
fealty  ?  No  ;  it  were  folly  to  imagine  her  mind  had  ripened  so 
quickly.  She  was  still  as  ignorant  as  before,  no  doubt,  of  the 
true  nature  of  his  feeling  for  her,  and  it  was  probably  a  mere 
impulse  of  generosity,  or  returning  affection,  or  longing  for 
familiar  companionship  that  had  influenced  her.  But  it  was  a 
great  gain  for  him.  His  heart  beat  rapidly  at  the  thought 
that  she  had  given  him  the  opportunity  of  winning  back  some 
portion  of  her  trust. 

"  Spend  another  night  with  us,"  added  Lydia — there  was 
a  trace  of  mischief  in  her  voice,  but  Basil  missed  it — "  I 
would  rather  go  in  the  morning  ;  it  is  always  so  beautiful, 
then,  at  the  Spring." 

It  had  been  hard  work  to  bring  herself  to  the  point  of 


104  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

showing  him  so  much  f avour,but  how  was  she  to  satisfy  herself 
if  she  continued  to  hold  aloof  ?  And  the  Indian  Spring  was 
precisely  the  spot  she  would  have  chosen,  because  of  its 
seclusion.  Here,  she  could  interrogate  him  at  her  leisure, 
secure  from  interruption.  What  a  cunning  inquisitor  she 
meant  to  be  1  He  should  be  made  to  tell  her  everything 
without  suspecting  her  purpose.  She  had  not  only  the  con 
fidence  due  to  uniform  success  in  probing  his  thoughts,  but 
the  faith  which  lurks  in  the  heart  of  every  woman  in  her 
ability  to  "  manage  "  any  member  of  the  clumsier  sex. 

Basil  accepted  her  invitation  gladly,  never  doubting  that 
it  had  been  prompted  chiefly  by  a  magnanimity  which  was 
as  sweet  to  him  as  it  was  unexpected. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHEN  they  set  out  shortly  after  breakfast  next  morning, 
Basil  rejoiced  to  find  that  Lydia  was  as  bright  and  as  un 
reserved  as  she  had  ever  been.  She  laughed  and  chatted 
with  him  as  freely  as  though  no  cloud  had  arisen  between 
them.  What  a  fortunate  escape  for  him  !  It  seemed  little 
short  of  marvelous.  He  would  take  care  not  to  risk  his 
happiness  again.  How  could  he  have  imagined  he  was 
walking  straight  into  the  peril  he  meant  to  avoid  ? 

Their  path  ran  along  one  side  of  a  field  bordering  on  the 
banks  of  the  cove.  It  followed  the  zigzag  line  of  an  old 
"  worm "  fence  overgrown  with  locust  bushes,  briars  and 
trumpet  creeper.  The  latter,  in  a  few  months,  would  deck 
the  fence-row  with  clusters  of  bright  crimson  flowers.  The 
path  brought  them,  at  the  end  of  a  mile  or  more,  to  a  deep, 
wooded  ravine  from  which  a  small  brook  flowed  into  the 
head  waters  of  the  cove.  Turning  into  this  ravine,  they 
followed  the  windings  of  the  stream  which  carried  them 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  Manor  woods.  At  last,  rounding 
a  sudden  bend  of  the  brook,  they  came  to  their  destination, 
the  Indian  Spring. 

It  was  a  limpid  pool  at  the  foot  of  a  great  mottled  beech, 
which  stood  in  a  cleft  of  a  steep  hill-side.  Tall  elms,  from 
which  hung  festoons  of  grapevines  and  Virginia  creeper, 
formed  a  natural  arbour  above  the  gorge.  Loose  stones  had 
been  used  to  dam  the  spring.  They  were  green  with  moss, 
and  from  their  crevices  sprang  tiny  ferns.  The  spring  owed 
its  name  to  the  fact  that  the  spot  had  once  been  the  seat  of 
an  Indian  tribe.  Stone  tomahawks  and  arrow  heads,  bits 


io6  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

of  rude  pottery  and  other  relics  were  occasionally  turned  up 
in  ploughing  the  adjacent  lands. 

The  face  of  the  hill  was  gay  with  nodding  anemones  and 
a  prim  array  of  snowy  bloodroot,  the  waxen  blossoms  still 
unsheathed.  Here  and  there,  patches  of  olive  green  among 
the  dead  leaves  announced  the  presence  of  arbutus  hiding 
its  pink  and  white  charms  coyly  under  a  Quakerish  garb. 

Lydia  sprang  eagerly  up  the  nearest  slope  and  began  to 
pluck  the  blossoms  from  their  hiding-places. 

"  Let's  see  who  will  get  the  finer  bouquet,  Basil  !  "  she 
exclaimed. 

They  bent  over  side  by  side,  their  hands  often  touching 
as  they  searched  among  the  leaves.  Basil  was  keenly  con 
scious  now  of  his  danger.  At  times,  he  could  scarce  resist 
the  temptation  to  capture  those  swift,  elusive  little  hands  as 
they  flashed  so  provokingly  near.  It  was  trying  to  feel  her 
breath  upon  his  cheek,  to  be  so  close  to  her  that  her  lithe 
figure  sometimes  brushed  against  him.  Once,  she  caught 
him  by  the  shoulder,  to  save  herself  from  falling  and  leaned 
against  him,  for  a  moment,  with  all  her  weight.  It  was  all 
he  could  do  to  keep  from  clasping  her  in  his  arms. 

Lydia  was  not  thinking  of  him.  The  subtle  charm  of  the 
spot  possessed  her.  Her  veins  were  filled  with  the  glad 
elixir  of  spring.  Every  now  and  then,  she  paused  in  her 
task  and  stood  erect  to  drink  in  the  damp  fragrance  of  the 
earth,  the  perfume  of  the  arbutus,  the  freshness  of  the  dew- 
laden  leaves. 

"  There,  Basil,"  she  exclaimed,  at  last,  holding  out  to  him 
a  huge  bunch  of  arbutus,  "  see  what  a  lot  I've  gathered. 
Why,"  she  added,  with  a  laughing  glance  at  his  meagre 
handful,  "  you  have  hardly  any.  What  a  lazy  fellow  !  " 

It  was  true.  He  had  merely  made  a  show  of  activity. 
His  real  occupation  had  been  watching  her. 

Lydia  seated  herself  in  a  loop  of  grapevine  that  hung 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  107 

from  one  of  the  elms  near  the  spring  and  began  to  cull  the 
choicer  sprays. 

"  These  are  for  Mamma,"  she  explained. 

Basil,  rather  shamefacedly,  added  his  contribution  to  the 
heap  in  her  lap.  He  found  a  convenient  seat  on  a  large 
boulder  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  spring,  from  which  he 
had  a  good  view  of  her.  They  were  silent  for  some  time. 
Lydia  was  too  busy  to  talk,  and  Basil  asked  nothing  better 
than  to  gaze  at  her  as  she  swung,  apparently  oblivious  of 
him,  to  and  fro.  How  delightful  it  was  here  beside  her,  in 
the  great,  quiet  wood !  The  sunlight,  filtering  through 
the  budding  foliage,  traced  fugitive  patterns  of  light  and 
shade  on  the  web  of  interlacing  roots  at  their  feet.  Above 
and  beyond  them,  stretched  the  blackish  depths  of  wooded 
slopes.  In  the  meadow,  just  below,  rose  patches  of  man 
drake  like  tiny  green  umbrellas  planted  close  together  in 
the  sod.  Farther  down,  a  dense  hedge  of  honeysuckle 
clambering  over  a  network  of  green-briar  and  blackberry 
bushes  screened  the  stream,  but  at  another  point,  there  was 
a  break  in  a  thicket  of  alders  and  magnolias  which  disclosed  a 
glimpse  of  steel-gray  water  touched  with  rose  and  changing 
into  a  delicate  green  near  the  opposite  shore.  Branch  wil 
lows  growing  along  the  margin,  drooped  their  long  wands, 
studded  with  yellow  catkins,  close  to  the  glistening  current 
which  danced  with  soft,  soothing  murmur  over  a  bed  of 
stones. 

Basil's  gaze,  without  his  knowing  it,  grew  rapt.  Lydia's 
total  unconsciousness  intensified  his  sense  of  charm.  She 
seemed  to  him,  as  she  swayed  dreamily  back  and  forth,  to 
have  a  natural,  primitive  grace  in  harmony  with  the  wild 
beauty  of  the  spot. 

Unluckily,  Lydia  happened  to  glance  at  him  just  as  the 
admiration  in  his  eyes  shone  keenest.  It  was  the  way  he 
had  looked  at  her  the  other  night  in  the  parlour !  She  sprang 


io8  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

up  hastily  and  stood  facing  him  with  a  forbidding  air.  The 
trial  of  strength  which  she  had  sought  was  at  hand.  But  it 
was  not  as  she  had  intended.  He  had  taken  her  by  surprise 
again.  There  had  been  no  time,  no  opportunity  for  her  to 
set  in  motion  her  insidious  plan  of  attack.  It  was  he  who 
had  taken  the  initiative,  putting  her  on  the  defensive.  She 
did  not  doubt  that  unless  she  acted  quickly,  he  would  be 
quite  capable  of  repeating  the  folly  that  had  been  so  odious 
to  her.  Thank  goodness,  she  knew  the  symptoms  in  him 
now,  and  could  check  him  in  time. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Basil  ?  "  she  demanded, 
shortly. 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered,  confused. 

"  There  is  something  !  "  she  insisted,  "  else,  why  do  you 
stare  at  me  so  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  "  I  couldn't  help  it." 

It  was  of  no  use  ;  her  beauty  mastered  him.  He  had  set 
himself  too  hard  a  task  of  self-repression. 

Lydia  tossed  her  head,  impatiently. 

"  Couldn't  help  it !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  how  can  you  be  so 
absurd  ?  One  would  think  you  were  a  child !  You  must 
help  it,  if  we  are  to  be  friends.  Understand  that,  clearly. 
I  never  dreamed  of  such  rudeness  from  you." 

"  Rudeness  !  "  he  cried,  "  surely,  Lydia,  you  know  me 
better.  As  if  I  could  ever  have  a  thought  that  was  really 
rude  to  you  1  Ah,  if  you  could  but  know  how  anxious  I  am 
not  to  offend ;  how  gladly  I  would  do  anything  to  make  you 
happy  1 " 

"  You  have  an  odd  way  of  showing  it,"  she  retorted, 
mockingly,  but  with  just  a  trace  of  inquisitiveness.  She  was 
wondering  what  explanation  he  could  have  to  offer. 

"  You  wouldn't  think  it  odd,"  said  Basil,  quick  to  take 
advantage  of  her  apparent  willingness  to  listen  to  him,  "  if 
you  knew.  It  only  seems  odd  because  you  don't  under- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  109 

stand."  If  he  could  make  her  understand  !  He  must  en 
lighten  her  if  there  were  any  way  of  doing  it  without  offend 
ing  her  still  more.  It  was  his  only  hope  of  placating  her,  of 
excusing  himself.  "  It  is  love,  Lydia — nothing  else — but  a 
kind  of  love  that  is  new  to  me  as  to  you.  Ah,  yes,  it  is  rude, 
but  not  in  the  way  you  mean.  It's — it's  something  that  grips 
one  and  drags  him  on  roughly,  whether  he  will  or  no.  It 
came  upon  me  first  in  the  canoe :  I  tried  to  struggle  with 
it — I  knew  it  would  startle  and  annoy  you,  that  it  would  seem 
to  you  impertinent,  silly — but  I  failed.  It  is  stronger 
than  I  am ;  it  will  break  out  in  spite  of  everything  I  can 
do." 

"  Strange  !  "  she  said,  puckering  her  brow  with  a  sagely 
meditative  air,  "you  never  used  to  feel  that  way." 

"  You  are  different,  so  different  1  "  he  cried.  "  You  have 
bewitched  me,  I  think." 

"  Well  1  "  cried  Lydia,  with  an  accent  of  indignation, 
which  a  sudden  gleam  of  laughter  in  her  eyes  belied,  "  the 
idea  of  trying  to  shift  the  blame  to  me !  A  witch,  am  I  ? 
What  next,  I  wonder !  " 

"  I  withdraw  the  obnoxious  word,"  said  Basil,  smiling. 
He  was  beginning  to  feel  somewhat  encouraged.  "  Suppose 
I  say  you  are  fascinating  ?  And  really,  you  have  cast  a  spell 
on  me." 

Lydia  gave  him  an  ironical  glance.  So,  she  was  fascinat 
ing  !  Why  had  he  not  discovered  this  before  ?  He  might 
have  spared  both  him  and  her  all  this  bother.  She  could 
have  told  him,  long  ago,  she  didn't  want  to  be  "  fascinat 
ing  "  to  him  or  to  anybody  else,  in  the  way  he  meant.  There 
could  be  no  longer  any  doubt  about  it ;  she  had  turned 
his  head.  What  a  pity  !  Did  he  love  her  so  very  much  ? 
Would  he  suffer  a  great  deal  ?  She  was  dismayed  to  find 
herself  wishing  he  would.  It  wHs  a  cruel  wish,  and  yet,  there 
was  pleasure  in  it.  Pshaw !  Was  she  also  growing  silly  ? 


no  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

What  had  she  to  do  with  this  sort  of  thing  ?  She  felt  a  sud 
den  flash  of  anger  against  Basil  for  having  brought  her  to 
such  a  pass.  After  all,  it  meant  but  one  thing — the  sacrifice 
of  her  darling  independence.  Basil  wanted  her  to  marry 
him — that  was  evident.  Marriage  meant  bondage.  She 
was  determined  to  be  always  free.  What  was  the  use  of 
beating  about  the  bush  any  longer  ?  She  must  bring  him  to 
his  senses. 

"  If  you  think  you  can  catch  me  with  flattery,"  she  said 
with  a  touch  of  asperity,  which  she  could  have  wished  were 
more  marked,  "  you  are  very  much  mistaken." 

"  Flattery  !  "  exclaimed  Basil,  his  passion  breaking  through 
all  restraint,  "  you  wouldn't  think  of  flattery,  if  you  could 
know  what  I  feel.  Can't  you  understand  this,  Lydia — that 
you  are  all  the  world  to  me ;  that  there  can  never  be  any 
happiness  so  great  as  that  I  dare  not  hope  for — the  happiness 
of  knowing  you  care  as  much  for  me  ?  I  thought  there  was 
nothing  I  couldn't  do  for  you.  I  was  wrong.  There  is  one 
thing  I  cannot  do,  and  that  is,  to  hide  this  new  feeling 
which  offends  you.  I  meant  to  hide  it.  I  said  to  myself 
I  would  wait.  I  am  very  humble  about  you,  though  I  have 
not  seemed  so.  I  knew  you  cared  for  me,  but  not  in  the 
way  I  wished.  I  feared  you  might  never  care.  My  only 
chance,  it  seemed  to  me,  lay  in  a  devotion  which  might 
gradually  win  upon  you.  Some  day,  it  might,  I  hoped,  be 
given  to  me  to  prove  that  no  such  love  as  mine  could  be 
found  elsewhere — a  love  anticipating  your  slightest  wish, 
enveloping  you  with  a  tenderness  that  could  never  tire, 
denying  even  itself  lest  it  cause  you  harm.  Fool  that  I  was, 
I  dreamed  of  guarding  you  against  yourself  1  It  was  possi 
ble,  I  thought,  if  you  discovered  my  desire,  that  you  might 
be  moved  by  sympathy,  by  the  affection  you  had  felt  for  me 
ever  since  you  were  a  little  child,  to  give  yourself  to  me  rashly, 
without  knowing  your  own  heart.  Every  consideration 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  in 

urged  me  to  silence — self-interest,  my  sense  of  honour,  and 
strongest  of  all,  my  solicitude  for  you.  Well — you  know  what 
has  happened.  I  am  guilty  of  all  I  resolved  so  firmly  not  to 
do.  I  blurted  out  the  love  I  meant  to  conceal.  I  forgot 
what  was  due  to  you  and  was  conscious  only  of  the  mad  im 
pulse  that  swept  me  on.  I  had  but  one  slender  chance,  as 
I  have  said ;  it  was  to  wait,  to  suffer,  to  strive  silently  for 
your  approval  against  any  odds,  in  the  hope  that  the  time 
might  come  when  it  would  not  seem  to  you  so  presumptu 
ous  if  I  asked  you  to  be  my  wife.  I  flung  that  chance 
away.  The  utmost  I  could  ask  of  you,  now,  is  that  you 
bear  with  me  for  old  friendship's  sake  ;  that,  if  I  seem  mad 
and  foolish,  you  will  take  pity  and  say  to  yourself,  'He 
can't  help  it,  and  he  means  no  harm.' " 

Lydia  glanced  at  him  indulgently  ;  she  was  tempted  to 
say  more.  A  wave  of  feeling  that  was  not  all  compassion 
swept  over  her.  This  kind  of  love  might  be  silly,  but  it  was 
not  trivial  nor  tame.  There  was  force  in  it,  a  force  that  gave 
it  dignity,  even  to  her  contumelious  view.  Her  heart  throbbed 
strongly  in  response  to  Basil's  unconscious  eloquence.  She 
knew,  now,  what  she  had  been  so  curious  to  learn ;  she  had 
gauged  the  character  and  intensity  of  the  feeling  which  had 
driven  him,  as  he  had  said,  against  his  will.  It  was  even 
stronger  than  she  had  imagined.  And  she  had  inspired  it  1 
She  !  A  gratified  sense  of  recovered  dominion,  of  a  new, 
more  despotic  power  came  to  her.  Her  delicate  nostrils 
quivered  ;  she  threw  her  little  head  back  proudly.  Bear 
with  him  ?  Why,  of  course.  She  need  never  fear  him  now. 
Whenever  he  looked  at  her  in  that  way  again,  she  would 
know  he  was  only  offering  her  renewed  submission.  Take 
pity  on  him  ?  A  dangerous  impulse  stirred  her.  Would  it 
be  too  much  to  give  him  what  he  did  not  ask,  what  he  had 
said  he  no  longer  had  any  thought  of  asking  ?  Basil  had 
been  right  in  thinking  that  sympathy  might  make  her  rash. 


112  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

After  all,  she  did  love  him  dearly.  They  might  be  very 
happy,  if 

She  started  suddenly  and  glanced  at  him,  with  a  look  of 
alarm.  For  a  moment,  her  precious  liberty  had  been  in 
peril ;  captivity  had  seemed  no  longer  so  ugly  a  thing.  Was 
it  possible  she  had  been  on  the  point  of  bending  her  proud 
neck  to  the  yoke?  How  often  she  had  told  herself  she 
would  never  be  poor-spirited  enough  to  utter  at  the 
altar  that  hateful  promise  to  obey  1  No  :  pity — it  was  only 
pity,  of  course — would  never  carry  her  that  far.  But  it 
might  console  him  to  learn  that  she  would  have  preferred 
him  to  anyone  else.  There  could  be  no  harm  in  telling 
him  that. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  to  be  your  wife,"  she  said  with 
innocent  gravity,  "  I  couldn't  care  for  anyone  more  than  I 
care  for  you — I  couldn't  really.  But  it  is  out  of  the  ques 
tion,  Basil.  Years  ago,  I  made  up  my  mind  I  could  never 
marry.  I'm  not  like  most  girls,  as  you  know.  The  thought 
of  giving  up  my  liberty  has  always  been  insupportable.  It 
would  be  a  mockery  for  me  to  promise  obedience  to  any 
one  ;  sooner  or  later,  I  would  rebel.  No  matter  how  much 
I  might  love  you,  I  would  pine  for  freedom,  and  even  if  you 
tamed  me  at  last,  I  could  never  forgive  you  for  clipping  my 
wings.  We  are  ever  so  much  happier  as  we  are — you  see 
that,  don't  you  ?  " 

To  Basil,  there  was  something  whimsical  yet  touching  in 
her  words.  How  little  she  knew  of  life  and  what  it  might 
have  in  store  for  her  1  A  girl  of  scarce  eighteen,  with  the 
gift  of  beauty,  of  charm  which  would  attract  to  her  shoals 
of  lovers,  and  "  years  ago,"  she  had  decided  never  to  marry  ! 
A  year  or  two  from  now,  and  she,  herself,  would  wonder  at 
her  blindness.  God  grant  that  her  awakening  to  the  sense 
of  her  power  and  its  peril  might  not  be  rude  !  In  her 
ignorant  self-confidence,  she  was  unique.  What  other  girl 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  113 

of  her  age  could  have  so  deluded  herself  with  the  idea  that 
she  was  proof  against  the  strongest  instinct  of  her  sex  ? 
Happy  the  man  who  should  know  the  joy  of  opening  her 
eyes  ! 

He  sighed  as  he  thought  that  if  she  never  cared  for  any 
one  more  than  she  cared  for  him,  she  might  actually  make 
good  her  unconscious  boast.  She  pitied  him ;  she  still 
loved  him,  in  her  way ;  he  was  forgiven.  Ought  he  not  to 
be  grateful  ?  And  yet,  the  fact  that  she  was  willing  to 
tolerate  the  idea  of  marrying  him  as  something  that  would 
have  been  quite  feasible  had  she  not  been  such  a  little  rebel, 
awakened  wild  thoughts. 

"  You  may  change  your  mind  after  awhile,"  he  said  with 
forced  humour  to  hide  the  tumult  in  him,  "  if  you  do,  re 
member  I  have  a  prior  claim." 

"  I  shan't  forget,"  she  said  with  a  laugh,  "  and  now, 
we're  going  to  be  reasonable,  are  we  not  ?  " 

"  No !  "  he  answered  impetuously,  "  I  can't  be  reasonable 
while  I  am  near  you.  I  no  longer  wish  to  be  reasonable. 
It  has  gone  too  far,  Lydia — the  sight  of  you  makes  me 
drunk!" 

Lydia  looked  shocked,  but  in  reality,  her  heart  felt  a 
thrill  of  delight.  She  had  tasted  the  joy  all  women  feel  in 
the  abandon  of  a  passion  that  will  tolerate  no  compro 
mises,  no  evasion.  She  was  glad  Basil  would  persist  in  his 
folly. 

Basil  saw  only  the  deceptive  cloud  on  her  face,  and  his 
own  face  grew  downcast. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  can  do,  Lydia,"  he  said,  rising  and 
gripping  the  edge  of  the  boulder,  as  if  to  steady  himself,  "  if 
it  would  make  you  freer,  happier,  I  can  go  away.  Whether 
I  were  '  reasonable '  or  not,  would  make  no  difference,  then. 
It  would  be  hard  for  me,  but  not  so  hard  as  to  stay  here, 
feeling  that  my  presence  was  a  plague  to  you." 
8 


ii4  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  Go  away  !  "  she  cried,  startled,  "  but  I  would  miss  you, 
Basil !  " 

There  was  a  note  of  pain  in  her  voice  that  caused  his 
heart  to  leap. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  added  with  shy  archness, 

"  I'll  try  to  put  up  with  your  eccentricities,  if  you  will 
stay." 

"  Lydia !  "  he  cried,  taking  an  eager  step  towards  her, 
his  face  aglow. 

"  There — no  nearer,  please !  "  she  exclaimed  hastily,  put 
ting  out  both  hands  as  if  to  ward  him  off.  She  felt  a  strong 
inclination  to  spring  away  from  him  into  the  woods.  But  it 
would  never  do  to  let  him  think  she  was  afraid.  "  You've 
given  me  a  headache,"  she  added  nervously,  "  it  is  tiresome 
talking  of  one's  self.  Leave  me  for  a  little  while  ;  I  want  to 
be  alone.  Take  this  to  the  house  and  put  it  into  water  for 
me,  won't  you  ?  "  She  tossed  him  the  bunch  of  arbutus  as 
she  spoke.  "  I'm  going  to  have  a  look  at  the  deer." 

She  turned  on  her  heel  rather  precipitately  and  disap 
peared  in  the  shrubbery  that  bordered  the  brook. 

Basil  stood  gazing  after  her  for  some  time,  with  pain 
and  longing  in  his  eyes.  Her  avoidance  of  him,  her  evident 
panic  convinced  him  he  had  been  woefully  mistaken.  She 
was  impressionable,  affectionate — nothing  more.  What  mad- 
/  ness  to  have  dreamed  for  an  instant  that  his  passion  had 
found  some  echo  in  her  heart ! 


THE  deer  range  was  a  large  enclosure  of  woodland  and 
meadow  skirting  the  edges  of  a  swamp  through  which  the 
brook  ascended  gradually  to  its  source.  The  shade  of  a 
labyrinth  of  tangled  shrubbery  and  trees  protected  the 
stream  and  its  many  springs  in  summer  and  kept  its  banks 
luxuriantly  green.  At  frequent  intervals,  little  rills  crept 
slowly  through  the  bog  to  join  the  brook,  occasionally  form 
ing  large,  semi-stagnant  pools.  It  was  possible  to  cross  the 
marsh  only  at  certain  points  where  cart-roads  had  been  made 
of  logs  on  which  earth  and  gravel  had  been  heaped,  but  one 
might  still  follow  the  course  of  the  stream  along  rude  em 
bankments  at  its  side  which  had  been  thrown  up  in  cutting 
for  it  an  easy  channel  to  drain  the  adjacent  fields.  On  the 
crests  of  these  embankments,  ran  narrow  paths  beaten  hard 
by  the  deer  and  by  foxes,  rabbits,  opossums  and  raccoons, 
which  found  comparatively  safe  refuge  in  the  swamp. 

Lydia  took  the  left  hand  path  going  up  stream.  In  a  few 
minutes,  she  came  to  a  road  that  wound  up  the  face  of  a 
slope  covered  by  a  grove  of  fine  chestnut  trees.  This  road, 
she  knew,  led  to  a  pleasant  spot  where  she  had  often 
loitered.  Turning  into  it,  she  climbed  to  the  crest  of  the 
ridge  and  emerged  into  a  little  glade,  protected  by  a  hedge 
of  brambles  and  sassafras  bushes,  from  which  sprang,  here 
and  there,  a  noble  poplar  or  beech.  Near  the  centre,  stood 
a  knotty  black  gum  of  great  size  spreading  a  canopy  of  tiny 
red  leaves  which  would  soon  be  as  lustrously  green  as  those 
of  an  oleander.  One  of  its  gnarled  branches,  bent  close  to 
the  ground,  formed  a  rude  armchair  in  which  Lydia  seated 
herself,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"5 


ii6  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

She  was  really  tired — not  physically  but  mentally.  Her 
interview  with  Basil  had  involved  an  unaccustomed  kind  of 
exercise  which  had  taxed  her  heavily.  She  was  not  used  to 
worrying  herself  with  questions  of  feeling,  of  motive.  Her 
life  had  been  almost  wholly  objective.  She  had  been  wont 
to  receive  and  absorb  impressions,  not  to  analyse  either  her 
own  thoughts  and  wishes  or  those  of  others.  She  had  been 
forced,  for  the  first  time,  to  think  seriously,  to  grapple  with 
a  problem  which,  while  it  had  interested  her  deeply,  had 
caused  her  brain  to  throb  with  a  sense  of  hard  labour.  Here, 
she  could  shake  off  the  burden.  She  was  alone  in  the  heart 
of  a  sequestered  wood,  remote  from  disturbing  influences. 
No  one  could  "  bother  "  her,  here,  with  intrusive  claims 
upon  her  attention.  There  were  only  the  trees,  the  blue  sky, 
the  scent  of  the  pines,  the  furtive  watchfulness  of  a  hidden 
animal  life  that  was  as  anxious  as  she  to  be  avoided.  The 
spirit  of  the  woods  revived  in  her  with  refreshing  force. 
All  that  had  happened  between  her  and  Basil  faded  swiftly 
into  comparative  insignificance.  The  old  lawless  instincts 
sprang  up  again  within  her,  hot  and  strong.  How  glad  she 
was  she  had  escaped  him,  how  thankful  she  had  not  yielded 
to  her  momentary  impulse  of  compassion  !  She  was  still 
free,  free  as  air.  More  than  ever,  she  was  resolved  to  re 
main  so.  For  the  moment,  she  was  again  but  a  careless 
child,  exulting  in  her  liberty. 

There  was  so  much  here  to  give  her  active  fancy  play. 
Immediately  beneath  her,  at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  looming 
darkly  through  the  foliage,  lay  the  swamp,  drear  and  still. 
To  the  left,  a  glimpse  was  had  through  a  gap  in  the  shrub 
bery  of  a  bit  of  "  old  field,"  overgrown  with  sedge  and 
stunted  pines,  which,  like  the  swamp,  was  desolate  yet  allur 
ing.  This  lonely  waste,  once  cultivated  but  long  since  de 
serted,  was  believed  by  the  negroes  to  be  a  favourite  resort 
of  ghosts.  There  was  not  a  negro  in  the  neighbourhood 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  117 

who  would  have  approached  the  spot  after  nightfall.  Even 
during  the  day,  the  "  old  field  "  was  avoided  by  the  more 
timorous. 

Lydia  amused  herself  by  recalling  the  various  stories  of 
uncanny  adventures  which  the  Manor  negroes  professed  to 
have  met  with,  not  only  here,  but  in  other  portions  of 
the  swamp.  How  she  wished  she  could  feel  the  thrill  of 
some  such  experience  !  But  try  as  she  might,  she  had  never 
been  able  to  see  a  really  satisfactory  ghost,  although  her 
imagination  had  played  her  some  odd  pranks  at  times. 
Here,  if  anywhere,  she  might  hope  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of 
one.  This  savage  solitude,  in  which  she  could  fancy  Nature 
speaking  to  her  confidentially,  in  whispers,  seemed  the  very 
abode  of  mystery,  of  shadows,  of  muffled  voices.  A  dreamy 
sense  of  unreality  stole  upon  her.  She  leaned  back  against 
the  trunk  of  the  gum,  half  closing  her  eyes  with  a  drowsi 
ness  due  to  the  soothing  influences  of  the  spot.  The  only 
sounds  that  reached  her  were  such  as  harmonised  with  the 
murmurous  quiet  all  about  her — the  low  rustling  of  deer  in 
neighbouring  coverts ;  the  hoarse  cawing  of  crows  from  the 
tops  of  trees  in  the  swamp  ;  the  faint  call  of  ploughmen  to 
their  horses  in  distant  fields  ;  the  monotonous  croaking  of 
frogs  in  the  marsh. 

Suddenly,  a  mischievous  fancy  seized  her.  There  was  a 
spot  in  the  swamp  known  as  the  "  marl  pit,"  which  she  had 
long  been  curious  about.  It  was  a  large  pond,  made  by 
excavating  for  marl,  which  bore  an  even  more  sinister  rep 
utation  among  the  negroes  than  the  sedge  field.  It  was 
said  to  have  no  bottom — at  least  none  that  any  plummet  had 
ever  sounded — and  to  be  capable  of  sucking  into  its  depths 
any  creature  who  was  rash  enough  to  venture  near  it. 
Lydia  had  often  sought  to  learn  its  location,  but  none  of 
the  negroes  could  be  induced  to  tell  her,  much  less  to  pilot 
her  to  it.  They  always  sought  to  dissuade  her  by  narrating 


li8  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

blood-curdling  stories  of  the  place — stories  which  had  their 
origin  in  a  single  incident,  the  drowning  of  a  couple  of 
negro  boys  who  had  tumbled  into  the  pond  while  angling 
for  catfish. 

The  pool  was  believed  to  have  been  "  laid  under  a  spell  " 
by  a  reputed  wizard,  an  old  slave  named  Manuel,  who  was 
held  in  great  dread  by  ignorant  whites  as  well  as  blacks. 
Manuel  lived  alone  in  the  swamp,  in  charge  of  the  deer. 
He  never  denied  to  his  fellow-slaves  that  he  had  "  conjured  " 
the  marl  pit ;  on  the  contrary,  he  did  his  utmost  to  encour 
age  the  delusion.  The  sly  old  scamp  had  a  practical 
reason  for  wishing  it  to  be  avoided.  It  abounded  in  the 
choicest  catfish,  for  which  he  found  ready  sale  in  the  county 
town. 

Lydia  felt  that  she  had  an  excellent  opportunity,  now,  to 
satisfy  her  curiosity.  She  was  alone ;  there  was  no  one  to 
deter  or  to  mislead  her.  A  spice  of  adventure  in  the  enter 
prise  tempted  her  strongly,  and  she  was  on  the  point  of  mov 
ing  when  her  interest  was  excited  by  a  doe  who  had  thrust 
her  slender  muzzle  through  a  screen  of  bushes  directly  in 
front  of  her,  and  was  regarding  her  with  a  pair  of  large, 
soft  eyes  whose  gaze  expressed  a  timid  curiosity.  Lydia 
remained  perfectly  still,  and  presently,  other  heads  ap 
peared.  At  length,  the  branches  parted,  and  a  noble  buck, 
the  sultan  of  the  herd,  stepped  proudly  forth  into  the  glade. 
His  subjects  followed,  one  by  one,  pausing  at  every  few 
steps  to  glance  about  them  with  a  watchful  air. 

The  peaceful  charm  of  this  scene  was  broken  suddenly 
by  the  report  of  a  gun  close  at  hand.  The  deer  bounded 
off  in  a  panic,  and  Lydia,  startled,  sprang  to  her  feet.  As 
she  did  so,  a  redbird  tumbled  from  the  tree  overhead  to  the 
ground,  a  few  paces  from  her.  It  had  fallen  upon  a  cluster 
of  white  violets,  and  lay  there,  staining  the  snowy  blossoms 
with  its  blood  as  it  fluttered  in  its  death-throes.  There 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  119 

was  a  rustling  noise  in  a  thicket  to  the  right  of  Lydia,  and 
a  moment  later,  a  handsome  Irish  setter  leaped  from  the 
bushes.  He  was  followed,  almost  immediately,  by  a  young 
man  in  a  hunting  suit  of  drab  corduroy,  who  held  in  one 
hand  a  gun  still  smoking  from  the  recent  discharge.  On 
seeing  Lydia,  he  recoiled  with  a  cry  of  alarm. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Miss  Cheston  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Have 
I  hurt  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Lydia,  recognising  Oswald  Reeve.  She 
received  him  with  a  rebuking  air.  Of  course,  he  did  not 
know  that  he  was  poaching  in  her  father's  deer  park,  where 
no  one  was  permitted  to  hunt  at  this  season  of  the  year,  but 
she  must  challenge  him  for  shooting  the  poor  little  redbird, 
which  was  not  a  sportsman's  proper  game.  Besides,  he  had 
killed  it  sitting.  Lydia  had  been  carefully  instructed  by 
her  father  in  gunning  ethics,  the  cardinal  rule  of  which,  in 
the  Colonel's  neighbourhood,  was  strictly  prohibitory  of  the 
shooting  of  birds  when  not  on  the  wing. 

"  How  could  you  kill  that  pretty  little  creature  ? "  she 
demanded.  "  And  sitting,  too." 

"  It  was  a  mean  thing  to  do,"  said  Oswald,  much  em 
barrassed,  "  but  he  was  such  a  handsome  fellow,  I — I 
thought  you  might  like  to  have  his  wings  for  a  hat." 

The  excuse  was  a  lame  one,  and  a  fib  besides.  He  had 
not  thought  of  Lydia  at  all,  but  had  fired  from  a  mere  chance 
impulse.  Bending  over  hurriedly,  as  he  spoke,  he  picked 
up  the  bird  and  offered  it  to  her.  Lydia  refused  it  with  a 
gesture  of  repugnance.  "  I  saw  it  die,"  she  said  with  a 
slight  tremor  in  her  voice. 

Oswald  confusedly  thrust  the  bird  into  one  of  the  large 
pockets  of  his  coat,  in  the  hasty  desire  to  hide  it  from  her, 
and  with  a  bow  which  was  awkward,  for  him,  turned  to 
leave  her.  To  his  surprise,  Lydia  laid  a  detaining  hand  on 
his  arm. 


120  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  You  can't  get  off  so  easily,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "  I 
take  you  prisoner  for  trespassing  in  our  woods.  Your  punish 
ment  is  to  be  presented  to  Papa,  and  thanked  for  taking  such 
good  care  of  me  on  the  steamer." 

Oswald,  flushing  with  pleasure,  signified  his  acquiescence. 
Her  easy  friendliness,  so  unlocked  for  under  the  circum 
stances,  increased  his  confusion. 

"  But  I  forgot,"  said  Lydia,  with  a  doubtful  air,  "  I  was 
about  to  go  in  search  of  the  marl-pit — would  you  mind  coming 
with  me  ?  " 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Oswald,  promptly.  He  had  no 
idea  whither  the  search  might  lead  him,  but  he  was  ready 
to  go  anywhere  with  her — the  farther  the  better. 

"  I  have  always  longed  to  find  it,"  she  explained,  "  be 
cause  of  the  queer  stories  that  are  told  about  it.  It  is 
somewhere  near,  I  am  sure,  and  this  is  such  a  good  chance. 
It  is  said  to  be  a  dreadful  place,"  she  added,  with  a  pretence 
of  seriousness.  "  The  negroes  declare  it  is  '  conjured  ' ;  that 
people  who  go  too  near  it  are  dragged  into  it  by  some  magic 
power  and  drowned." 

"  Perhaps  its  banks  are  miry,"  suggested  Oswald,  laugh 
ing.  He  was  regaining  something  of  his  usual  ease. 

"  Oh,  no  !  That  is  too  tame  an  explanation.  There  is 
really  an  old  conjuror  living  near  it,  who  admits  having 
charmed  it.  I  hope  you  are  not  afraid  of  conjurors." 

She  questioned  him  with  a  bantering  glance. 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  I  know  something  of  the 
gentry.  There  were  some  East  Indian  conjurors  in  London 
with  whom  I  scraped  acquaintance.  They  were  very  harm 
less,  I  assure  you,  and  were  even  kind  enough  to  teach  me 
a  few  of  their  tricks." 

"  You  must  show  them  to  me  1  "  cried  Lydia,  clapping 
her  hands  in  delight,  "  perhaps  I  can  learn  them.  If  I 
succeed,  I'll  frighten  old  Manuel  out  of  his  boots.  What 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  121 

fun  that  would  be  !  He  is  only  a  clumsy,  every- day  sort  of 
conjuror,  of  course." 

Oswald  willingly  promised  to  impart  the  desired  instruc 
tion,  and  Lydia,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  the  spirit  of  adven 
ture,  started  off.  Retracing  her  steps  down  the  cart-road  to 
the  banks  of  the  brook,  she  again  took  the  left  side  going 
up-stream.  They  were  forced  by  the  narrowness  of  the  path 
to  proceed  in  Indian  file.  Lydia  led  the  way,  Oswald  came 
next,  and  the  setter,  having  been  cautioned  by  his  master, 
obediently  brought  up  the  rear. 

The  swamp  became  even  wilder  as  they  advanced.  At 
places,  they  had  to  thread  their  way  through  dense  thickets 
or  climb  over  huge,  fallen  trees,  with  a  perfect  abattis  of 
limbs  and  branches.  Frequently,  they  found  it  easier  to 
leave  the  embankment  and  betake  themselves  to  the  marsh. 
Here,  it  was  necessary  to  step  with  the  utmost  care,  and 
often,  to  spring  from  one  to  another  of  the  little  tussocks  of 
earth  and  matted  grass  which  rose,  like  tiny  islands,  from  the 
bog.  Sometimes,  when  the  water  was  sufficiently  shallow, 
they  followed  the  bed  of  the  stream,  balancing  themselves  on 
slippery  stones,  or  treading  small  reefs  of  white  sand  thickly 
strewn  with  glistening  mussel  shells  and  pebbles. 

Lydia  made  light  of  difficulties  that  would  have  daunted 
many  a  man.  Oswald  often  glanced  at  her  in  wonder  and 
was  tempted,  more  than  once,  to  suggest  that,  perhaps,  they 
had  better  turn  back. 

They  came,  at  last,  to  a  spot  that,  he  thought,  must  cer 
tainly  baffle  her.  It  was  necessary  for  them  to  cross  the 
stream  at  a  point  where  the  water  rushed  along,  a  bubbling 
torrent.  A  fallen  tree  offered  them  an  insecure  footway. 
Its  trunk  did  not  quite  reach  to  the  opposite  bank,  but  hung 
over  the  brook,  threatening  to  vibrate  dangerously  under 
any  considerable  weight.  Its  rounded  surface,  stripped  of 
the  bark  and  polished  by  rain,  was,  evidently,  as  slippery 


122  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

as  a  huge  icicle.  Lydia  sprang  upon  it  without  hesitation 
and  passed  over  lightly  with  confident  grace.  Oswald 
followed,  though  not  without  misgivings,  and  got  over  safely, 
after  several  dangerous  lurches.  Lydia,  watching  him  from 
the  opposite  bank  with  maliciously  expectant  eyes,  had  almost 
hoped  he  would  slip  off  and  tumble  into  the  brook.  It 
wouldn't  hurt  him  much,  and  it  would  spoil  the  nattiness  of 
that  stylish  corduroy  suit.  He  was  too  "  dressed  up  "  to 
suit  her  ideas  of  a  sportsman's  proper  garb.  His  clothes 
were  glaringly  new;  they  didn't  look  as  if  he  had  ever  shot 
in  them  before.  Could  he  shoot  at  all  except  at  sitting 
birds  ?  She  still  felt  a  touch  of  resentment  towards  him  for 
killing  the  redbird. 

They  found  themselves,  at  last,  in  the  heart  of  the 
swamp.  Its  wildness  and  beauty  repaid  them  for  their 
trouble.  Large  fungi  of  many  colours  variegated  the  dark 
surface  of  the  bog.  Wild  grapevines  and  other  creepers 
interlaced  themselves  with  many  contortions  about  the 
trunks  and  branches  of  trees.  Some  of  the  trees  were  curi 
ously  dwarfed  and  misshapen,  while  others  shot  up  to  great 
heights,  their  stems  as  round  and  straight  as  the  mast  of  a 
ship.  The  turf  of  the  embankment  here  was  a  carpet  of 
delicate  hues  of  green,  embroidered  with  wild  flowers. 
Violets  of  various  tints — dark  purple,  pale  blue,  pure  white 
and  several  intermediate  shades — grew  thick  in  the  grass. 
In  the  clear,  tinkling  stream,  bordered  by  nodding  ferns, 
tiny  fishes  darted  hither  and  thither,  like  flashes  from  pol 
ished  metal.  All  sorts  of  birds  were  fluttering  about  in  great 
excitement  over  the  unwonted  invasion  of  their  solitude. 
Now  and  then,  the  underbrush  stirred  from  the  scuttling 
away  of  a  fox  or  a  rabbit.  Once,  Lydia  came  face  to  face  with 
a  great  owl  perched  on  a  low  bough.  It  stared  at  her  with 
round,  unblinking  eyes  and  a  slight  ruffling  of  its  feathers, 
but  did  not  stir.  Squirrels  frisked  about  on  every  hand. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  123 

There  was  the  greatest  abundance  of  game  for  Oswald's 
gun,  and  the  setter  grew  restive  at  his  master's  strange 
inaction.  But  Oswald  had  had  enough  of  shooting  for  that 
day  after  his  experience  with  the  redbird  and  was  not  at 
all  inclined  to  brave  Lydia's  displeasure  again. 

A  little  farther  on,  they  came  to  a  large  pond  which,  Lydia 
decided,  must  be  the  marl  pit.  Its  appearance  and  sur 
roundings  were  certainly  of  a  character  to  justify,  to  some 
extent,  its  bad  reputation.  It  was  black  as  ink,  but  reflected 
with  perfect  distinctness  the  overhanging  branches  of  the 
trees  by  which  it  was  surrounded.  A  dense  growth  of  water- 
lilies  floated  on  its  surface.  The  approach  to  it  from  any 
given  point  lay  through  a  treacherous  morass  threaded  by 
rivulets  of  the  same  inky  water.  Nowhere  was  a  spot  to  be 
seen  which  seemed  to  afford  safe  footing.  No  wonder  the 
pond  was  avoided.  Only  a  person  who  had  mastered  the 
secret  of  crossing  the  bog  could  hope  to  reach  its  margin 
without  serious  risk  of  being  engulfed. 

As  Lydia  and  Oswald  drew  near,  a  long-legged  bird,  which 
was  slowly  patrolling  the  edge  of  the  pond,  uttered  a  cry  of 
alarm  and  flew  away,  disgusted,  no  doubt,  at  having  been 
cheated  of  its  intended  meal. 

Back  of  the  pond,  rose  a  slope,  partly  denuded  of  its 
timber.  In  the  middle  of  the  cleared  space,  stood  a  small 
hut  of  logs  with  a  chimney  plastered  with  clay.  Lydia  and 
Oswald  paused  for  some  minutes,  gazing  alternately  at  the 
marl  pit  and  the  cabin  which  seemed  to  them  almost  equally 
lonesome  and  forlorn.  Presently,  the  creaking  of  wheels 
was  heard,  and  shortly  afterwards,  there  drew  up  before  the 
door  of  the  hut,  a  rudely  fashioned  cart  drawn  by  a  stunted 
little  ox.  At  the  side  of  this  diminutive  animal,  walked  or 
rather  shuffled,  the  locally  famous  conjuror,  "  Uncle  Manuel." 

Manuel  was  a  hunchback,  frightfully  deformed.  His 
features  were  roughly  hewn  and  strangely  distorted.  One 


124  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

leg  was  bent  in  the  form  of  a  bow  and  his  huge,  bony  hands 
had  fingers,  sinewy  and  crooked,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
fashioned  specially  for  gripping  an  enemy  by  the  throat. 
His  eyes,  small  and  deep-set,  were  bright  as  diamonds,  and 
it  was  asserted  of  him  that  he  could  subdue  the  most  vicious 
animal  by  simply  gazing  at  it.  His  usual  manner  was  in 
keeping  with  his  forbidding  appearance.  Except  to  those 
whom  he  wished  to  propitiate,  it  was  surly  and  spiteful. 
Even  when  he  had  a  favour  to  ask,  he  preferred  his  request 
in  a  sort  of  snarl  which  seemed  to  threaten  injury  if  his  pe 
tition  were  denied.  No  one  had  ever  known  him  to  bestow 
a  genuinely  friendly  glance  on  any  human  being.  There 
were  some  marvellous  tales  of  his  skill  as  a  conjuror — how, 
for  example,  he  had  caused  teacupfuls  of  rice  to  burst  from 
the  knees  of  his  victims  or  lizards  and  frogs  to  leap  from 
their  mouths.  Many  a  negro  attributed  the  most  ordinary 
ailments  to  his  having  conceived  a  grudge  against  him. 

"  Shall  we  pay  him  a  visit  ?  "  asked  Lydia,  "  you're  quite 
sure  you're  not  afraid  ?  " 

"  He  is  rather  terrifying,"  said  Oswald,  "  still,  if  you 
like,  we  will  risk  it." 

It  was  some  little  time  before  they  succeeded  in  finding  a 
path  round  the  marl-pit.  At  their  approach  up  the  slope, 
the  conjuror,  who  had  seated  himself  in  his  doorway  and 
was  mopping  his  brow  with  his  ragged  coatsleeve,  watched 
them  with  sour  curiosity.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  they 
were  "  Quality.  "  What  could  they  want  of  him  ?  They  had 
not  come  for  any  incantation  or  charm.  As  they  drew 
nearer,  he  recognised  Young  Miss  and  also  Oswald  who  had 
been  pointed  out  to  him  the  day  before  in  the  county  town 
as  Lawyer  Reeve's  son.  Rising  briskly  to  his  feet,  he 
snatched  off  his  tattered  coonskin  cap  and  bowed  to  the 
ground,  his  mouth  writhing  itself  into  a  grin  which  exposed 
long,  pointed  teeth  like  the  tusks  of  a  boar. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  125 

"  Sobbun,  Miss  Lydyer.  Sobbun,  Young  Marster,"  he 
exclaimed,  in  a  curious,  half-resentful  whine,  which  was 
meant  to  be  ingratiating.  "  You've  cum,  in  co'se,  ter  bring 
er  leetle  change  ter  po'  ole  Man'l." 

Oswald  laughed  and  tossed  him  a  silver  half-dollar. 

"  Taddee,  Marster,  taddee  !  "  said  Manuel,  obsequiously. 
"  My,  my,  what  er  well-favoured,  kind  young  gen'1'man  I 
En'  leetle  Mistus  1  Fo'  de  Lawd,  it  warms  old  Man'l's  heart 
ter  see  her  agin'  1  " 

"  You  must  tell  us  our  fortunes,  Uncle  Manuel, "  said 
Lydia,  "  everybody  says  you  are  a  wonderful  conjuror,  and 
know  exactly  what  is  going  to  happen." 

Manuel  glanced  at  her  with  a  well-acted  air  of  surprise. 
It  was  all  right  for  the  negroes  to  believe  in  his  magical 
powers  for  he  drove  quite  a  trade  among  them  as  a  con 
juror,  besides  enjoying  the  consciousness  that  he  was  feared 
and  could  wreak  his  spite  on  any  individual  by  merely 
threatening  him,  but  he  was  chary  of  admitting  to  white 
folks  that  he  ever  attempted  to  exercise  such  arts.  Only 
the  "  po'  trash  "  were  sufficiently  credulous  to  put  any  faith 
in  his  spells  and  he  always  "  fought  shy  "  of  the  "  Qual 
ity  "  who  knew  too  much  and  were  serenely  indifferent  to 
his  magic.  Besides,  the  Colonel  strongly  discountenanced 
conjuring  as  tending  to  the  spread  of  superstition  among 
the  negroes,  and  more  than  once,  had  admonished  him 
sharply.  To  members  of  the  Manor  family,  Manuel  always 
stoutly  asserted  his  ignorance  of  even  the  comparatively 
harmless  practices  of  fortune-telling. 

"  Dah  now,  leetle  Mistus  1  "  he  exclaimed,  flinging  up  his 
hands  and  rolling  his  eyes  in  pretended  amazement,  "  whar 
did  you  ebber  hear  sech  er  tale  ez  dat  ?  Somebody  must 
er  tole  you  jes'  ter  spite  me.  No,  indeed,  honey !  No, 
indeed  !  I'ze  too  ole,  en'  got  too  much  ter  do,  ter  be 
fustyin'  wid  dat  kind  er  bizness," 


126  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

The  cool  effrontery  of  this  assertion  almost  took  Lydia's 
breath  away.  While  still  a  small  child — too  small,  in  the 
conjuror's  opinion,  to  "  take  notice  " — she  had,  herself, 
heard  old  Manuel  threaten  various  negroes  with  "  spells  ". 
Besides,  his  sorceries  were  a  matter  of  common  notoriety. 
She  grew  indignant  at  his  hardihood  in  denying  the  fact 
to  her.  Her  anger  was  changed  to  amusement,  however, 
when,  as  Manuel  continued  to  proclaim  his  innocence, 
muttering,  "  Me  a  cunjer  doctor  ?  Did  ennybody  ebber  ? 
What'll  dey  be  sayin'  'bout  me  nex',  1  wonder  ?  "  a  frog 
leaped  out  suddenly  from  one  of  the  pockets  of  his  patch 
work  coat.  With  an  oath,  the  old  rascal  clapped  his 
hands  on  both  his  pockets  to  prevent  the  escape  of  other 
prizes  imprisoned  there.  He  had  quite  forgotten  that,  in 
passing  through  the  woods,  he  had  picked  up  several  lizards, 
frogs  and  snails  for  use  in  frightening  negroes  with  the  idea 
that  they  were  to  be  used  in  compounding  charms.  If 
Young  Miss  caught  a  glimpse  of  these,  she  would  know  he 
was  lying.  But  he  was  already  undone  ;  she  had  seen  the 
frog,  and  that  was  evidence  enough  for  her. 

Lydia's  eyes  danced  with  merriment. 

"  There  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  won't  deny,  now,  that 
you  conjure  !  " 

Manuel  looked  away  in  surly  confusion.  He  knew  there 
was  nothing  he  could  say,  after  such  an  ocular  demonstration 
of  his  guilt,  that  would  have  the  least  effect. 

"  Young  Miss  done  sot  her  mind  ter  it,  now,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  en'  all  out  doze  (doors)  wouldn't  budge  her." 

"  Ef  you  will  have  it  dat  I  kin  tell  fortins,  leetle  Mistus," 
he  replied,  with  a  dogged  air  of  submission,  "  I  s'pose  I'll 
ha'  ter  try.  Shall  I  tell  Young  Marster's,  dah,  en'  your'n 
tergedder  ?  "  With  a  knowing  leer  at  Oswald,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Pears  ter  me  dey  tied  up  close — yo'  fortin  en'  his'n — in  a 
kink  monst'ous  like  a  true  luvyer's  knot  1  "  He  paused,  and 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

added,  with  a  hoarse,  wheezy  chuckle,  "  I  seems  ter  see  a 
weddin'  at  de  big  house,  sho'ly  !  " 

He  could  not  have  aimed  a  shrewder  blow.  His  native 
cunning  told  him  Lydia  would  instantly  resent  such  asso 
ciation  with  Oswald.  He  was  not  deceived  by  their  apparent 
intimacy.  It  could  be  only  "  skin-deep."  He  had  studied 
Young  Miss  from  her  infancy,  and  was  well  aware  of  the 
intensity  of  her  social  prejudices.  Even  if  this  handsome 
young  dandy  had  made  some  impression  upon  her,  she  would 
be  ashamed  of  a  feeling  which  would  lower  her  in  her  own 
estimation — a  feeling  she  dare  not  confess  to  her  family, 
her  friends.  Imagine  a  Cheston  in  love  with  a  Reeve !  He 
was  not  mistaken.  Lydia  started,  and  blushing  hotly,  gave 
him  a  wrathful  glance.  The  impudent  old  wretch  1 

"  There,  that  is  quite  enough ! "  she  said  peremptorily, 
and  turning  abruptly  about,  she  moved  hastily  away. 

Oswald  was  even  more  annoyed ;  he  had  been  placed  in 
a  hateful  position. 

"  Damn  you !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice,  to  Manuel, 
whose  face  wore  a  hypocritical  look  of  surprise,  "  I've  half 
a  mind  to  give  you  a  hiding  1  " 

He  hesitated  whether  to  follow  Lydia,  but  deciding  that 
he  could  not  well  do  otherwise,  started  after  her  with  strong 
misgivings. 

"  She  is  angry,  of  course,"  he  said  to  himself  bitterly,  "  at 
being  thought  capable  of  such  association  with  me.1" 

Manuel  watched  the  retreating  figures  with  an  air  of  mali 
cious  satisfaction. 

"  I  knowed  dat  ud  fetch  her,''  he  muttered,  "  I  'low  she 
won't  come  pokin'  roun'  hyar  agin  in  a  hurry,  a-bodderin' 
me." 

The  conjuror  valued  his  isolation  and  independence 
highly  and  hated  to  have  his  lonely  retreat  invaded.  Be 
sides,  Young  Miss  had  enraged  him  by  extorting  the  admis- 


128  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

sion  that  he  practised  "  cunjerin."  But  he  had  not  come 
off  from  the  encounter  unscathed.  "  She'll  tell  Marse 
Bob,"  he  mumbled  ruefully,  "  en'  he'll  be  down  on  me,  like 
a  gale  er  win'.  De  fat's  in  de  fire,  sho'  nuff !  I  wish  I 
knew  some  spell  ter  lay  on  her  ter  keep  her  quiet,  but  buried 
bottles  nur  a  lizard's  toe,  nuther,  wouldn't  tech  her.  Dat 
kind  er  thing  does  de  bizness  fur  niggers  en'  po'  trash,  but 
it  don't  'pear  ter  work  wid  de  quality  wurf  a  cent  1  " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

OSWALD  soon  overtook  Lydia,  and  they  walked  along  for 
some  distance  in  silence.  Both  were  greatly  embarrassed. 
Lydia  felt  only  contempt  for  Manuel's  pretended  discovery, 
but  it  was  exasperating  that  her  desire  to  be  kind  to  Oswald 
should  have  been  distorted  in  such  an  odious  way.  What 
did  he  think  ?  Was  it  possible  he  attached  the  least  signifi 
cance  to  Manuel's  imputation  ?  She  would  loathe  him  if  he 
were  capable  of  harbouring  the  idea  that  her  friendliness  was 
due  to  any  other  feeling  than  her  sense  of  obligation  and 
a  touch  of  sympathy.  Was  old  Reeve's  son,  to  whom  she 
had  condescended,  not  without  an  effort,  so  conceited  as  to 
imagine  he  had  any  special  attraction  for  her  ? 

Glancing  covertly  at  him  now  and  then,  she  soon  absolved 
him.  His  bearing  was  anything  but  confident.  She  could 
see  that  he  shared  her  confusion.  No  doubt,  the  conjuror's 
words  had  seemed  to  him  merely  coarse  and  impertinent ; 
the  situation  was  awkward  for  him  as  well  as  for  herself. 
Well — they  could  not  go  on  like  this ;  one  of  them  must 
break  the  ice. 

"  We  shall  be  out  of  the  swamp  in  a  little  while,  now," 
she  said,  carelessly.  "  I'm  afraid  you  find  it  tiresome." 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  Oswald,  quickly.  Her  manner 
reassured  him.  Whatever  she  felt,  it  was  evident  she  cher 
ished  no  active  animosity.  It  was  plucky  of  her  to  face  him 
so  promptly,  with  such  a  cool,  indifferent  air.  Most  girls 
would  have  hung  back  timidly,  waiting  for  him  to  speak,  or 
else  would  have  rashly  sought  to  cover  their  self-conscious 
ness  with  a  nervous  volubility. 

They  were  soon  in  easy  conversation  again,  and  the  talk 
9  I29 


130  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

drifted  to  Oswald's  experiences  abroad.  He  described  his 
impressions  of  different  countries,  especially  England,  in  a 
light,  pleasant  vein.  Lydia  at  once  grew  interested.  She  had 
heard  a  great  deal  of  England  from  Miss  Twiggs,  and  was 
curious  about  the  life  of  the  English  squires,  because  of  its 
resemblance  to  that  of  their  Tidewater  congeners.  Oswald 
had  stayed  at  country  houses  and  was  easily  able  to  paint 
picture  after  picture  for  her  with  free,  careless  touch.  He 
was  clever  enough  to  keep  his  own  personality  in  the  back 
ground,  and  yet  insensibly,  she  was  made  to  perceive  that  no 
social  barriers  had  been  raised  against  him  ;  that  wherever  he 
had  gone,  he  had  been  received  on  an  equal  footing.  The 
fact  seemed  to  her  to  give  him  an  additional  claim  upon  her. 
In  spite  of  her  prejudices,  she  could  not  help  recognising  the 
injustice  of  visiting  the  social  sins  of  his  father  upon  him. 
He  was  cultivated,  polished,  a  gentleman  in  speech  and  man 
ner.  What  a  surprise  for  her  father,  who  had  always  as 
serted  so  confidently  that  Reeve's  son  would  return  a  pre 
tentious  cad ! 

As  they  neared  the  house,  the  first  person  they  encount 
ered  was  Basil  on  his  way  to  look  for  Lydia.  Her  prolonged 
absence  had  caused  him  to  fear  that  some  accident  might 
have  happened.  At  sight  of  Oswald,  his  heart  gave  a 
sudden  throb.  Was  Oswald  to  be  the  rival  he  had  dreaded  ? 
Notwithstanding  his  social  disadvantages,  he  might  prove 
formidable.  To  Basil,  even  at  college,  he  had  seemed  to 
possess  a  magnetism  that  attracted  both  men  and  women. 
Basil  himself  had  been  affected  by  it,  and  now,  it  seemed  to 
him  it  had  taken  a  new,  more  dangerous  form.  Oswald  was 
no  longer  merely  a  handsome  boy,  but  a  finished  man  of  the 
world.  It  was  necessary  only  to  glance  at  him,  as  he  and 
Lydia  came  swiftly  across  the  lawn,  conversing  with  great 
animation,  to  note  the  signs,  invisible  to  any  but  jealous  eyes, 
of  a  tender  interest  in  his  companion.  Evidently,  it  rested 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  131 

with  Lydia  alone  as  to  whether  this  interest  should  be  per 
mitted  ultimately  to  declare  itself.  Was  it  likely  she  would 
remain  insensible  to  a  personality  which  must  appeal  to  all 
the  slumbering  woman  in  her  ?  Her  pride  was  great,  but 
love,  he  was  now  ready  to  believe,  might  prove  the  stronger. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  of  one  thing ;  he  must  suffer  from 
the  comparison  which  Lydia  had  doubtless  already  begun  to 
make  between  him  and  Oswald.  How  could  it  be  other 
wise  ?  Oswald  was  a  woman's  man  and  he  was  not.  Oswald 
was  good-looking,  tactful,  fluent ;  he  was  homely,  ungainly, 
painfully  self-conscious.  Precisely  where  he  was  sure  to 
blunder,  Oswald  would  be  at  his  best. 

They  had  so  much  in  common — these  two.  Was  it  not 
evident  ?  Who  would  not  have  remarked,  at  once,  that  they 
were  younger,  brighter,  fresher  in  sympathies  and  feeling 
than  he  ?  He  felt,  as  he  watched  them,  that  a  gulf  had 
opened  between  Lydia  and  himself.  In  a  twinkling,  Lydia 
and  Oswald  had  created  a  sphere  of  their  own  from  which 
he  was  excluded.  It  was  all  so  natural,  so  logical — a  thing 
that  was  bound  to  be  when  they  once  came  together.  They 
might  have  been  fashioned  for  each  other.  Oswald,  to  Basil's 
eye,  was  worthy  of  her.  At  college,  Basil  had  fancied  the 
noble-looking  boy  to  be  imaginative,  sensitive,  with  pure  ideals 
and  proud  ambitions.  Perhaps,  at  that  time,  his  outward 
appearance  had  been  really  an  index  to  a  certain  delicacy  of 
feeling.  But  Basil,  ignorant  of  his  manner  of  life  since  he 
had  known  him,  had  no  suspicion  that  his  development  had 
taken  a  direction  precisely  the  Contrary  of  that  to  which  his 
boyish  inclinations,  as  he  interpreted  them,  had  seemed  to 
tend.  He  still  attributed  to  him  the  same  wholesome  impulses, 
the  same  fastidiousness  of  thought  and  feeling.  How  was  he 
to  know  that  this  fastidiousness  was  purely  physical  ?  That 
Oswald's  refinement  was  that  of  a  voluptuary  to  whom  only 
that  is  immoral  which  is  coarse  and  gross  ?  In  his  blindness, 


132  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Basil  imagined  him  to  be  in  close  sympathy  with  Lydia  at 
every  point.  He  suffered  keenly,  at  the  thought  of  the  idyl 
of  happiness  which,  perhaps,  had  already  begun  for  them. 

Lydia  greeted  Basil  laughingly. 

"  We  have  had  quite  an  adventure — Mr.  Reeve  and  I —  " 
she  exclaimed,  "  I  caught  him  trespassing  in  the  deer  park 
and  brought  him  home  to  face  Papa." 

Basil  wondered  what  would  be  the  outcome  of  the  inter 
view.  To  all  appearances,  Oswald  was  not  at  all  concerned. 
Perhaps  he  had  reason  to  believe  that  Lydia's  influence 
would  be  exerted  strongly  in  his  favour. 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,"  said  Lydia,  when  they  reached 
the  verandah,  "  I  must  find  Papa." 

Through  an  open  door  as  she  entered  the  hall,  she  spied 
her  father  at  the  sideboard  in  the  dining-room  compounding 
a  toddy.  This  was  a  work  of  great  nicety  and  deliberation 
requiring  accurate  measurements  and  careful  manipulation, 
but  Lydia  burst  in  impetuously  upon  the  Colonel  and  flung 
her  arms  about  him  just  as  he  was  dipping  out  an  even 
teaspoonful  of  crushed  sugar  from  a  bowl. 

"  Ah,  Papa  I  "  she  exclaimed,     "  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  the  Colonel,  glancing  in  simulated  wrath 
at  the  empty  teaspoon  and  the  particles  of  sugar  scattered 
over  the  sideboard,  "  I  think  you  might  have  been  a  little 
more  careful,  seeing  what  I  was  about." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  mind  when  you  hear  what  I  have  to  tell 
you  1  A  toddy's  nothing  to  losing  me  1  " 

"  Losing  you  !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  looking  round  at 
her  in  surprise,  "  why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Lydia,  in  the  delight  of  being  once  more  at  home,  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  incident  on  the  steamer  until  re 
minded  of  it  by  meeting  Oswald.  She  now  hastily  de 
scribed  her  adventure  with  the  bull  and  Oswald's  timely 
rescue, 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  133 

The  Colonel,  at  the  close  of  her  story,  clasped  her  in  his 
arms  with  a  shudder.  "  Thank  God,  I  have  you  safe  !  "  he 
cried.  "  I  must  find  the  young  man  at  once,  and  thank 
him." 

"  You  won't  have  far  to  go,"  said  Lydia,  laughing,  "  he 
is  out  on  the  verandah  with  Basil.  I  happened  to  meet  him 
in  the  woods  and  brought  him  home  with  me." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

Lydia  hesitated,  knowing  how  strong  were  her  father's 
prejudices. 

"  His  name  is  Reeve — Oswald  Reeve,"  she  said,  with  a 
touch  of  confusion. 

"  Oswald  Reeve  I "  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  disconcerted. 
"  That's  our  Reeve's  son." 

"  Yes,  Papa,"  said  Lydia  quickly,  "  but,  of  course,  you 
won't  let  him  see  you  think  of  that.  Remember,  he  saved 
me  from  a  dreadful  danger.  Besides,  he  is  a  gentleman — at 
least  I  think  so." 

"  And  Reeve's  son  ?  "  said  the  Colonel  dubiously,  "  how 
can  he  be  a  gentleman  ?  But  I  must  thank  him ;  I  owe 
him  a  heavy  debt,  my  darling." 

The  Colonel  went  out  upon  the  verandah  with  strong  misgiv 
ings.  He  expected  to  find  in  Oswald  a  revised  and  corrected 
edition  of  his  father.  His  advantages  of  education  and  of 
travel  had  doubtless  imparted  a  certain  veneer.  But  scratch 
this  coat  of  polish  ever  so  lightly,  and  very  probably,  you 
would  find  the  same  vulgar  traits  and  coarse  inclinations 
that  were  so  unpleasantly  apparent  in  his  father.  It  was 
one  of  the  Colonel's  favorite  dogmas  that  there  could  be  no 
true  gentility  without  good  blood.  It  was  his  firm  con 
viction  that  at  least  four  generations  were  required  to  make 
a  gentleman.  There  was  a  kind  of  refinement — a  mere  sur 
face  refinement  of  speech  and  manner — that  might  be  ac 
quired  in  a  very  few  years ;  but  a  refinement  that  would  stand 


134  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

the  usual  tests  of  his  class — the  refinement,  in  other  words, 
that  was  instinctive  and  never  at  fault  was,  in  his  opinion, 
the  exclusive  attribute  of  the  "  born"  gentleman  or  lady. 

To  his  great  surprise,  it  was  precisely  this  sort  of 
refinement  that  Oswald  exhibited  not  only  in  his  bearing 
but  in  chance,  unconscious  indications  which  showed  that  it 
was  habitual  to  him.  The  Colonel  watched  him  narrowly, 
noting  every  point,  though  his  manner  gave  no  indication  of 
his  scrutiny.  Oswald,  indeed,  was  quite  insensible  of  his  ob 
servation.  The  Colonel's  manner  was  so  pleasantly  friendly, 
so  free  and  natural,  that  almost  immediately,  he  felt  per 
fectly  at  ease.  What  a  contrast  there  was  between  his  host's 
attitude  now  and  his  bearing  towards  him  when,  years  ago 
as  a  child,  he  had  paid  a  visit  to  the  Manor  with  his  father  I 
Then,  also,  the  Colonel  had  meant  to  be  kind,  but  his  kind 
ness  had  been  patronising.  Now,  there  was  no  trace  of 
condescension.  Lydia's  assurance  on  the  steamer  was  being 
fully  justified.  None  the  less,  the  Colonel  continued  to  be 
puzzled  to  account  for  Oswald's  good  breeding. 

"  Where  the  devil  does  he  get  it  from  ? "  he  asked  him 
self  again.  "  Ah,  I  have  it ! "  he  said  at  last,  with  a  feeling 
of  relief  in  the  discovery  that  his  pet  notion  had  not  been 
discredited.  "  His  mother  was  a  Frisby — no  better  people 
in  the  county.  He  inherits  it  from  her,  of  course." 

What  a  pity  he  was  Reeve's  son  !  But  for  that,  he  might 
have  had  a  bright  future  before  him.  Well,  why  not  strain 
a  point  in  his  favour  ?  Did  he  not  owe  him  something  ?  He 
was  all  right  on  his  mother's  side,  and  as  for  Reeve,  there 
was  no  occasion  for  recognising  him.  "  Gad,  I'll  do  it !  " 
said  the  Colonel  resolutely,  feeling  that  he  was  making  a 
genuine  sacrifice  of  his  prejudices.  "  The  poor  fellow  will 
have  a  hard  time  of  it  here  unless  some  one  of  us  takes  him 
by  the  hand.  Yes,  I'll  stand  by  him.  No  doubt,  with  his 
sympathies  and  tastes,  he  will  value  my  support  as  the 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  135 

greatest  service  I  could  render  him.     I  fancy  he  will  do  me 
credit." 

When  Oswald  rose  to  go,  the  Colonel  shook  hands  heartily 
with  him  and  assured  him  he  would  always  be  glad  to  see 
him  at  the  Manor. 

"  Well,  Papa,"  demanded  Lydia  saucily,  when  Oswald  had 
departed,  "  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?  Was  I  wrong  in 
saying  he  was  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  answered  the  Colonel  promptly. 
"  It  seemed  incredible  to  me  when  I  thought  of  Reeve,  but  I 
had  forgotten  his  mother  was  a  Frisby.  Blood  always  tells." 

"  The  good  blood,  yes,  Papa,"  said  Lydia,  with  a  sly 
glance  of  mischief,  "  but  how  about  the  bad  ?  It  seems  to 
me  there  is  something  wrong  with  your  theory  after  all. 
You're  fond  of  saying,  '  It's  a  poor  rule  that  won't  work 
both  ways.'  " 

"  Well,  the  good  blood  has  got  the  upper  hand  in  this 
case,"  retorted  the  Colonel,  laughing,  "  at  least,  I  am  going 
to  act  on  that  assumption.  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  in 
troduce  him  to  our  friends." 

"  That  is  very  nice  of  you,"  said  Lydia  warmly,  "  it's  the 
way  I  would  have  chosen  to  pay  my  debt  to  him." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  her  thoughtfully  for  a  moment.  Was 
he  doubtful  of  the  advisability  of  permitting  further  associa 
tion  between  her  and  this  handsome  young  fellow  who  was 
the  grandson  of  his  father's  overseer  ?  Pooh  1  His  girl's 
pride  of  class  was  as  strong  as  his  own.  He  could  trust  her 
to  keep  young  Reeve  at  his  proper  distance.  Besides,  she 
was  fond  of  Basil  Kent.  That  was  a  talisman  to  keep  her 
from  harm.  There  could  be  no  shadow  of  doubt,  to  the 
Colonel's  mind,  as  to  her  choice  between  these  two. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OSWALD  was  greatly  elated  when  he  left  the  Manor.  The 
Colonel's  invitation  had  set  the  coveted  hall-mark  upon 
him.  He  had  little  or  nothing  to  fear,  henceforth,  from  the 
social  prejudices  which  had  seemed  so  threatening.  No  one 
would  dream  of  slighting  him  after  it  had  become  known 
that  he  was  accepted  at  the  Manor.  The  Colonel's  endorse 
ment  of  him  socially  differentiated  him  from  his  father  with 
an  emphasis  which  was  not  to  be  mistaken. 

His  gratification  was  all  the  keener  because  his  surroundings 
at  home  had  proved,  upon  actual  trial,  to  be  even  more  dis 
couraging  than  he  had  feared.  The  new  house,  just  com 
pleted,  which  his  father  exhibited  with  proud  complacency, 
was  hopelessly  vulgar.  Reeve  called  it  his  "  mansion  "  — a 
name  which  was  justified,  to  some  extent,  by  its  size.  It 
was  a  great,  flaring  structure  of  red  brick,  with  numerous 
balconies,  bay  windows  and  other  protuberances  painted 
white,  and  a  gingerbread  cupola  on  the  mansard  roof.  Placed 
in  a  conspicuous  position  in  the  middle  of  an  open  lawn  on 
the  principal  street  of  the  county  town,  it  seemed  to  Oswald, 
among  the  quaint,  unambitious  buildings  of  the  sleepy  little 
village,  like  a  loudly  dressed  snob  in  a  company  of  gen 
tlemen  of  severely  sober  garb  and  demeanour.  Its  bad 
taste  was  the  more  offensive  because,  but  for  it,  the  town 
would  have  been  almost  a  perfect  bit  out  of  the  old  colonial 
past.  The  buildings,  with  but  few  exceptions,  dated  from 
the  middle  or  the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and 
some  of  them  were  even  older.  There  had  been  scarcely  any 
change  at  all  since  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution  had 

136 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  137 

arrested  growth.     There  were  houses  in  process  of  erection 
then  that  had  never  been  completed. 

Prior  to  the  Revolution,  the  town  had  been  a  port  of 
entry  for  vessels  engaged  in  the  tobacco  trade  with  England 
and  had  enjoyed  a  really  flourishing  commerce.  It  was  the 
point  of  distribution  and  supply  for  plantations  for  many 
miles  around.  The  Revolution  destroyed  its  foreign  trade, 
and  in  a  few  years,  the  town,  which  had  fancied  itself  on  the 
road  to  becoming  a  city,  sank  suddenly  to  the  level  of  a 
stagnating  village.  The  respectable  mercantile  class,  with 
large  warehouses  and  spacious  dwellings,  dwindled  to  a  few 
torpid  shopkeepers,  and  many  of  the  buildings  lacked  oc 
cupants  and  were  converted  gradually  to  pettier  uses.  In 
course  of  time,  in  the  absence  of  any  growth,  the  town  came 
to  have  a  finished  look,  and  in  contrast  with  more  bustling 
communities,  took  on  an  air  of  antiquity  and  quaintness,  of 
almost  dreamy  indolence  and  indifference  to  what  was  hap 
pening  elsewhere.  The  stranger  could  not  fail  to  be  im 
pressed  by  the  unusual  size  and  solidity  of  most  of  the  build 
ings — square,  roomy  structures  of  rough-surfaced  brick  with 
very  thick  walls,  arched  doorways  and  porches,  and  windows 
with  deep  embrasures  and  small  panes  set  in  heavy  frames. 
Most  of  them  were  surrounded  by  gardens  enclosed  by 
high  brick  walls  and  either  terraced  or  sloping  to  the  river. 
These  gardens  were  mazes  of  shrubbery  and  flowers  with 
here  and  there  a  fine  old  tree.  The  grassy  streets  made 
curious  turns  and  windings,  bringing  one  suddenly  upon  the 
oddest  nooks  and  corners,  and  everywhere  there  was  the 
same  drowsy  quiet  and  repose. 

The  people  were  thoroughly  in  harmony  with  the  in 
fluences  of  the  place.  They  had  long  since  outgrown 
ambition  and  had  no  desire  for  change.  Even  the  shopkeepers 
took  their  ease.  The  competition  among  them  was  almost 
perfunctory.  Few  of  them  exerted  themselves  to  attract 


138  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

trade  or  humour  a  purchaser.  The  tedium  of  business  routine 
and  of  long  confinement  indoors  was  lightened  by  a  great 
variety  of  expedients.  The  salesmen  dawdled  over  every 
bargain  for  the  pleasure  of  conversation  with  their  customers 
and  frequently  enlivened  the  slow  afternoons  with  a  game  of 
cards.  In  pleasant  weather,  the  shopkeepers  spent  the  greater 
part  of  the  time  gossiping  on  the  courthouse  green. 

It  might  be  imagined  that  a  restless,  pushing  in 
dividual  like  Lawyer  Reeve  would  have  been  a  disturbing 
factor  in  so  leisure-loving  a  community;  that  his  tireless 
energy  would  have  proved  a  distinctly  irritating  element.  It 
was  just  the  reverse.  The  townspeople,  after  all,  had  a 
latent  spirit  of  emulation.  They  liked  to  fancy  they  could 
have  been  enterprising  and  progressive  had  they  cared  to 
make  the  effort.  In  their  eyes,  Reeve  was  the  actual  em 
bodiment  of  their  imagined  capabilities.  He  was  a  kind  of 
human  document  testifying  unmistakably  to  the  fact  that 
there  was  potentiality  among  them.  They  were  proud  of 
him  as  their  one  modern  man.  They  esteemed  him  the 
more  because  he  saved  them,  one  and  all,  the  least  neces 
sity  of  effort  on  their  own  part  to  prove  the  truth  of  their 
theory.  It  was  so  convenient  to  shift  things  to  his  shoulders. 
He  was  far  from  shrinking  from  the  burden  and  was  proud 
of  the  fact  that  he  carried  it  all  alone  and  had,  thus  far, 
proved  himself  equal  to  any  emergency.  It  was  his  special 
boast  that,  but  for  him,  the  town  would  have  stagnated 
utterly.  "  It  takes  me  to  wake  'em  up  1 "  he  often  declared 
with  swelling  importance. 

Upon  his  return  from  the  Manor,  Oswald  found  his  father 
seated  on  the  front  verandah.  Reeve  was  arrayed  in  his  eternal 
suit  of  black  broadcloth  which  made  him  look  uncomfortably 
stiff  and  warm.  He  was  a  bulky  man,  with  a  round  red 
face,  a  shock  of  coarse,  iron  gray  hair,  and  small,  twinkling 
blue  eyes  with  usually  a  gleam  in  them  which,  at  first,  gave 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  139 

one  the  impression  of  an  expansive  and  kindly  nature.  His 
mouth,  coarsely  cut,  expressed  rough  jollity  and  good  fellow 
ship,  and  altogether,  he  would  have  been  taken  for  a  cheery, 
generous  old  man  of  probably  convivial  tastes  and  a  rough 
sort  of  humour.  Such,  indeed,  he  sought  to  pass  for,  and 
usually,  he  succeeded.  But  those  who  knew  him  well  had 
been  taught  by  bitter  experience  that  his  apparent  joviality 
was  merely  a  mask  for  hardness  and  cunning. 

His  eyes  kindled  at  sight  of  his  son  and  he  cried  out 
with  genuine  heartiness, 

"  Well,  what  luck,  my  lad  ?  " 

Oswald  flung  his  empty  gamebag — he  had  thrown  away 
the  redbird  before  leaving  the  Manor — upon  the  back  of  a 
chair  and  said, 

"  That  depends  upon  what  you  call  luck.  I  got  no  game. 
But  I  had  a  pleasant  visit  at  the  Manor." 

"  At  the  Manor  1 "  exclaimed  his  father  in  great  surprise, 
half  rising  from  his  chair.  "  What  took  you  there  ?  " 

"  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  render  a  slight  service  to 
Colonel  Cheston's  daughter  on  the  steamer.  We  happened 
to  meet  to-day  in  the  woods  and  she  insisted  on  my  accom 
panying  her  home  to  be  thanked  by  her  father." 

"  And  the  Colonel  received  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  received  me ;  he  was  really  very  kind." 

"  You  mean  he  treated  you  like — like  a  gentleman  ?  " 
gasped  Reeve,  scarce  able  to  credit  his  ears. 

"  Like  a  gentleman  !  "  said  Oswald,  sharply.  "  How  should 
he  treat  me  ?  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  hope." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  assented  his  father,  hurriedly. 
"  But  I  didn't  think  he'd  do  it  all  at  once.  You  must  have 
made  a  great  impression.  And  the  service  you  rendered 
his  daughter — that  was  a  lucky  stroke  1  I'd  rather  she 
took  a  fancy  to  you  than  the  Colonel,  even;  whatever 
she  wishes  is  the  law  for  him,  and  I've  a  reason  for  wanting 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

you  to  stand  well  with  her.  You've  got  a  fine  start,  my  boy 
— a  devilish  fine  start !  " 

The  lawyer  chuckled,  and  rubbing  his  hands  together,  as 
he  always  did  when  pleased,  glanced  sideways  at  Oswald 
approvingly,  but  with  a  certain  timidity,  as  if  not  quite  sure 
that  he  might  not  have  offended  him  again. 

"  You  like  her  ? "  he  continued,  more  boldly,  as  Oswald 
made  no  sign  of  dissent.  "  She  would  suit  you  for  a  wife  ?  " 

Oswald  stared  at  him.  What  did  he  mean  ?  Surely,  he 
was  not  foolish  enough  to  imagine  that  he  could  think  seri 
ously  of  Lydia  Cheston  in  that  light.  True,  she  did  not 
seem  so  inaccessible  since  his  visit  to  the  Manor :  both 
she  and  her  father  had  been  gracious,  but — his  wife  1 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  what  would  suit  me,"  he  answered, 
coldly,  "  why  suggest  the  impossible  ? " 

"  It  is  not  impossible,"  said  his  father,  quickly  ;  "  it  isn't 
easy,  I  admit,  but — I  have  a  plan.  What  would  you  say  to 
being  one  day  not  only  her  husband,  but  the  master  of  the 
Manor?  In  fact,  the  two  things  hang  together." 

Oswald  fancied  his  father's  brain  was  addled  by  vain  im 
aginings. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  impatiently.  "  The  Colonel 
has  a  son ;  of  course,  he  will  inherit  the  property.  It  is  the 
rule,  I  believe,  with  these  Tidewater  families." 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  rule,"  admitted  Reeve,  "  but  he  can't  in 
herit.  The  Colonel  doesn't  really  own  the  Manor ;  it  is 
mortgaged  so  heavily  that,  at  his  death,  it  would  have  to  be 
sold.  Turlo  has  only  a  small  farm  that  the  Colonel  set  aside 
for  him  years  ago." 

"  How  would  that  benefit  me,"  objected  Oswald,  "  even 
if  I  were  fortunate  enough  to  find  favour  with  Miss  Lydia  ?  " 

"  I  hold  the  mortgages,"  said  Reeve,  with  a  click  of  his 
strong  white  teeth  like  the  sudden  snapping  of  a  trap,  "  a 
little  while  longer  and  I  shall  be  able  to  foreclose  if  necessary. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  141 

Of  course,  I  would  choose  a  favourable  opportunity  and  buy 
in  the  whole  estate.  It  wouldn't  come  to  that,  though,  if 
they  accepted  you.  I  would  even  be  willing  to  put  up  more 
money  for  the  Colonel,  if  I  knew  you  were  coming  into  the 
Manor  after  awhile.  He'd  only  have  to  say  the  word  and 
I'd  stop  the  leaks  and  set  him  on  his  feet  again.  God  bless 
you,  I'd  take  the  best  care  of  him ;  for  our  purposes,  his 
good-will  would  have  to  go  with  the  property." 

"  You  actually  think  of  buying  him  /"  exclaimed  Oswald, 
astonished  at  his  audacity. 

"  Does  that  surprise  you  ?  I  have  been  saving  money  for 
years  with  that  very  object  in  view.  Ever  since  you  were  a 
mere  boy,  I  have  dreamed  of  this  marriage." 

Oswald  glanced  at  his  father  with  new  interest.  It  was  a 
strange  idea  that  he  had  conceived,  and  yet,  it  was  logical 
enough,  after  all.  No  one  would  have  suspected  a  man  of 
his  mould  of  cherishing  such  a  project  which  had  in  it  an 
element  of  imagination ;  he  was  nothing  if  not  practical. 
But  Oswald  could  readily  perceive  the  underlying  motive. 
It  was  a  kind  of  vengeance  he  meant  to  take  for  his  social 
suppression,  and  at  the  same  time,  a  means  of  establishing 
his  son  firmly  in  a  commanding  position.  Oswald  fancied 
there  was  also  a  curious  sort  of  pride  for  him,  in  feeling 
that  he  might  be  able  to  pose  as  the  regenerator  of  the 
Cheston  fortunes.  He  had  often  heard  his  father,  even 
when  inveighing  against  the  Chestons  for  their  treatment  of 
him,  let  fall  chance  expressions  about  "  the  family,"  which 
indicated  a  covert  admiration  and  envy  not  unmixed  with  a 
certain  sense  of  proprietorship  in  its  dignity,  merely  because 
he  had  been  born  on  the  estate.  Perhaps  it  was,  in  part, 
hereditary  instinct  derived  from  several  generations  of 
Manor  overseers  who  had  served  the  Chestons  with  habitual 
fidelity. 

"  But  you  can't  be  in  earnest;"  he  said,  still  incredulous. 


142  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  The  Manor  is  a  great  estate.  The  Colonel  seems  to  live 
simply.  How  could  he  get  so  deep  into  debt  ?  " 

"  Nothing  easier  for  him  and  many  another  of  his  class," 
said  Reeve  carelessly.  "  It's  the  old  story — incompetence, 
extravagance,  endorsing  paper  for  any  friend  who  asks  him. 
Besides,  the  Colonel  wasn't  meant  to  be  a  farmer.  He  was 
educated  for  the  army  and  took  the  Manor  only  because 
his  elder  brother,  Edgar,  was  disinherited  by  the  Judge, 
who  had  discovered  that  he  was  a  gambler,  a  spendthrift, 
and  something  worse.  The  Colonel  was  then  a  dashing 
officer  and  might  have  risen  to  high  rank.  At  the  Manor, 
he  has  merely  vegetated,  letting  things  drift.  A  great  place 
like  that,  mismanaged,  eats  up  money,  especially  when  it  has 
to  support  a  small  army  of  slaves.  He  has  been  borrowing 
from  me  for  years,  and  he  also  owes  his  brother  some 
twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"  What  became  of  the  brother  ?  " 

"  He  disappeared  immediately  after  his  father's  death, 
carrying  off  with  him  a  beautiful  girl,  the  daughter  of  the  rector 
of  old  Winton,  Mr.  Magruder.  He  thought  she  would  inherit 
a  large  fortune  from  her  grandfather,  but  the  old  man,  at  first, 
cut  her  off  to  keep  the  money  from  Edgar  Cheston  whom 
he  hated.  He  afterwards  relented,  but  Edgar  did  not  know 
this,  and  his  wife  died  in  poverty  somewhere  out  west. 
Edgar  had  been  left  some  property  by  his  father,  but  he 
imagined  it  would  hardly  suffice  to  satisfy  his  creditors.  As 
it  happened,  a  surplus  remained  and  the  Colonel  held  it  for 
years  in  trust,  until  at  last,  Edgar  was  declared  by  the  courts 
to  be  legally  dead,  as  he  had  not  been  heard  from.  Then 
the  Colonel  borrowed  the  money  with  the  consent  of  the 
other  heirs,  his  mother  and  sisters.  He  is  absurdly  proud 
in  money  matters  and  would  insist  on  repaying  it  if  Edgar 
ever  reappeared." 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  that,  I  presume," 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  143 

"  On  the  contrary,  there  is  imminent  danger.  Edgar 
Cheston  is  still  living.  I  met  him  a  week  or  two  ago,  by 
mere  accident,  in  New  York.  He  is  hot  against  his  brother. 
If  he  takes  a  hand,  the  Colonel's  ruin  will  be  hastened — 
provided  I  fail  to  come  to  his  rescue.  You  perceive  the 
situation — do  you  not  ?  His  future  depends  upon  me.  I 
can  either  keep  him  at  the  Manor  or  drive  him  out.  When 
he  realises  this,  I  don't  think  he  would  hold  out  against  you, 
if  you  could  make  the  running  with  his  daughter." 

Oswald  was  suddenly  conscious  of  a  strong  temptation. 
His  father's  view  of  the  situation  was  grossly  sordid,  but 
plausible.  He  doubted  if  there  were  any  consideration  that 
would  induce  the  Colonel  to  accept  him  as  the  husband  of 
his  daughter,  but  the  fear  of  losing  the  Manor  might  bend 
his  pride.  If  he  could  win  the  love  of  that  fascinating 
creature,  the  way  might  be  smoothed.  His  father,  with  his 
keen,  hard  sense,  his  firm  grip  of  facts,  had  suddenly  made 
the  thing  practicable.  He  did  not  yet  love  the  girl,  but  he 
had  found  her  charming ;  it  were  easy,  with  but  a  gleam  of 
hope,  to  yield  himself  wholly  to  the  intoxication  of  her 
beauty.  There  was  another  obstacle,  however.  He  had 
seen  at  once  that  Basil  Kent  cared  for  her.  He  ought  not 
to  enter  the  lists  against  Basil ;  he  owed  him  too  much  for 
all  he  had  done  at  college.  It  would  be  basely  ungrateful 
to  attempt  to  snatch  his  possible  happiness  from  him.  His 
carefully  cultivated  instinct  of  gentility  revolted  at  the  thought. 

"  You  have  omitted  one  factor  from  your  calculations," 
he  said  to  his  father. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Reeve,  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  The  relation  between  Miss  Cheston  and  Basil  Kent. 
They  seem  very  fond  of  each  other." 

"  Yes,  as  friends.  I  don't  believe  she  ever  thought  of 
him  as  a  lover — he's  too  serious  for  her — but  if  she  has  any 
such  idea  in  her  head,  I  can  kill  him  off  with  a  word  or  two." 


144  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Again,  Oswald  looked  doubtful. 

"  I  shall  begin  to  think  you  are  a  magician,"  he  said. 

"  There  is  no  magic  about  it.  The  Colonel  is  an  ardent 
Secessionist.  So  is  his  daughter.  In  their  eyes,  one  of 
their  own  class  who  differs  from  them  is  a  renegade,  a 
traitor.  I  happen  to  know  that  Basil  is,  at  heart,  an  Aboli 
tionist;  I  have  probed  him  without  his  suspecting  it.  I 
have  only  to  expose  his  real  opinions  to  make  him  obnoxious 
at  the  Manor." 

"  If  Miss  Cheston  really  cared  for  him,  that  wouldn't 
matter." 

"  You  don't  know  the  Tidewater  women ;  they  are  bitter 
partisans.  Besides,  the  Colonel's  daughter  is  a  little 
prude — for  all  her  wildness.  She  would  suffer  torture 
rather  than  yield  to  what  she  would  consider  an  unworthy 
attachment.  Basil  would  disgrace  himself  far  more  effect 
ually  with  her  in  that  way  than  in  almost  any  other.  It  seems 
absurd,  but  it's  a  fact,  nevertheless.  It's  only  another  form 
of  the  cursed  pride  with  which  these  people  are  eaten  up." 

"  But  Basil  is  my  friend,"  said  Oswald,  impulsively.  He 
was  angry  with  himself  for  having  listened  to  his  father. 
"  What  you  propose  would  be  a  kind  of  treachery  to  him. 
I  am  deeply  indebted  to  Basil.  At  college,  he  took  me  by 
the  hand  and  helped  me  to  form  associations  which  have  been 
of  great  benefit  to  me.  He  could  not  have  been  kinder 
had  he  been  my  brother.  Shall  I  repay  him  by  attempting 
to  rob  him  ?  " 

The  crafty  lawyer  gave  his  son  a  scrutinising  glance. 
Although  Oswald  spoke  with  so  much  heat,  Reeve  doubted 
his  sincerity.  "  He  would  like  to  do  what  he  denounces," 
was  his  conclusion.  Nevertheless,  he  admired  him  for  his 
outburst.  He  was  pleased  to  hear  his  son  utter  such  high- 
flown  sentiments.  Were  they  not  what  might  have  been  ex 
pected  of  him  ?  He  was  a  gentleman,  and  a  gentleman 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  145 

must  cherish,  or  seem  to  cherish,  superlative  ideas  of  honour 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  "  It  is  my  money  that  has  done 
this,"  said  Reeve  to  himself,  with  the  feeling  that  he  was 
obtaining  a  handsome  return  for  his  outlay.  "  But  I  scarcely 
thought  it  would  have  made  him  so  damned  particular  1  " 

"  Leave  Basil  tome,"  he  said,  reassuringly.  "All  you 
need  do  is  to  make  yourself  agreeable  to  Miss  Lydia. 
There  is  no  harm  in  that.  Suppose  she  should  prefer  you 
to  him  ?  I  don't  see  that  you  are  called  upon  to  sacrifice 
her  happiness  as  well  as  your  own  for  his  sake.  If  she 
married  him,  he  would  tire  her  to  death.  She's  all  life  and 
gaiety,  with  a  spice  of  the  devil  in  her,  and  he  was  cut  out 
for  a  preacher.  She  couldn't  stand  him  a  week !  " 

Oswald  made  no  reply,  and  Reeve  took  his  silence  for 
consent.  The  truth  was,  Oswald  found  himself  in  a  di 
lemma.  His  social  ambition,  as  well  as  his  keen  interest 
in  Lydia,  inclined  him  strongly  to  the  programme  his 
father  had  outlined.  His  sense  of  what  was  "  gentlemanly  " 
laid  bare  to  him  the  ugliness  of  the  scheme.  He  wavered, 
irresolute,  feeling  that  very  little  were  needed  to  make  him 
yield.  Was  his  father  right,  after  all,  in  his  theories  about 
"  pushing  "  him  ?  Would  his  activity  which  he  had  dreaded 
prove  to  be  advantageous  rather  than  harmful  ?  Social  con 
sequence,  power,  perhaps  even  happiness  actually  seemed  to 
lie  that  way.  But  the  issue  was  one  of  honourable  conduct, 
of  nicety  of  feeling — in  a  word,  of  the  gentility  he  had  be 
lieved  himself  to  possess.  He  wished  to  do  the  other 
thing — the  thing  that  was  low  and  unworthy  ;  he  could  not 
hide  from  himself  the  detestable  fact.  Was  his  refinement, 
after  all,  merely  artificial?  He  felt  keen  shame  at  the 
thought.  None  the  less,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  the 
point  of  saying  "  no."  He  would  leave  the  matter  open ; 
perhaps  the  contingencies  his  father  had  indicated  might 
not  arise.  He  would  continue  to  be  a  gentleman — if  he  could. 
10 


CHAPTER  XV 

REEVE'S  interview  with  Edgar  Cheston  in  New  York  had 
not  been  wholly  satisfactory  to  the  latter.  There  were  gaps 
in  the  lawyer's  statement  of  affairs  at  the  Manor — due  to  his 
habitual  caution  and  the  fear  that  inconvenient  questions 
might  be  asked  if  he  said  too  much — which  Edgar  thought 
it  desirable  to  fill  in  for  himself.  He  accordingly  set  a  pri 
vate  inquiry  on  foot  with  the  view  to  determining  whether 
it  would  be  worth  while  to  return  to  the  Manor.  He  would 
have  preferred  not  to  return.  He  had  left  home  an  embit 
tered  man,  anxious  to  cut  loose  from  associations  which  had 
become  repugnant  to  him,  and  resolved  never  to  go  back  un 
less  he  could  do  so  with  flying  colours.  As  yet,  he  had  not 
obtained  the  means  of  gratifying  this  ambition. 

He  had  seen  no  reason  until  now  for  concerning  himself 
about  what  was  happening  at  home.  His  debts,  he  was 
sure,  had  swallowed  up  all  the  property  his  father  had  left 
him ;  he  had  the  less  occasion  to  seek  information  on  this 
point  because  of  a  lively  impression  that  they  amounted  to  a 
good  deal  more.  His  wife's  prospects,  bright  at  first,  had 
been  suddenly  dissipated  by  the  change  in  her  grandfather's 
will.  Until  he  met  Reeve,  he  had  remained  in  ignorance  of 
a  second  change  bequeathing  her  a  fortune.  As  to  the  fam 
ily,  he  was  indifferent.  Even  his  mother's  affection  for  him, 
which  had  been  greater  than  for  any  of  her  other  children, 
laid  no  claim  upon  him.  He  had  always  been  selfish  and 
exacting,  and  he  even  cherished  a  grudge  against  her  for 
not  having  used  her  influence  with  his  father  in  his  behalf 
with  better  effect.  He  had  written  to  no  one  at  home  but 
his  brother's  wife,  and  to  her  only  twice,  years  ago.  Since 

146 


147 

then,  he  had  preserved  an  unbroken  silence.  Fortune  had 
not  favoured  him  in  the  way  he  had  hoped.  A  rolling  stone 
until  quite  recently,  he  had  but  just  begun  to  gather  moss. 
Money  alone  would  enable  him  to  rehabilitate  himself,  and 
he  was  still  obstinately  bent  upon  not  "  turning  up"  at  home 
unless  with  ample  resources  at  his  command. 

He  had  travelled  over  the  entire  continent  in  pursuit  of 
wealth,  with  now  and  then  a  glimmer  of  success,  but  for  the 
most  part,  in  a  chronic  state  of  impecuniosity.  He  was  a 
born  gambler,  and  luck  had,  upon  the  whole,  been  against 
him.  The  only  real  attachment  he  had  ever  known  had 
been  for  the  beautiful  girl  whom  he  had  beguiled  into  shar 
ing  his  flight,  with  the  fear  of  imprisonment  for  forgery  haunt 
ing  him  at  every  step  of  his  journey  towards  western  wilds, 
and  she  had  died  within  a  year  after  their  marriage.  He 
might  have  learned  to  care  for  the  daughter  she  had  left 
him,  but  death  robbed  him  of  her,  also,  when  she  was  still 
an  infant.  After  that,  he  grew  hardened  and  reckless  until 
at  last  he  became  a  finished  scamp,  a  professional  ad 
venturer,  all  the  more  dangerous  because  he  preserved  the 
external  forms  of  good  breeding  which  accentuated  certain 
natural  gifts.  As  a  young  man,  he  had  been  very  hand 
some,  and  time,  apparently,  had  made  but  little  impression 
upon  him.  His  voice,  soft  and  low,  was  insinuating,  and 
his  manner,  especially  towards  women,  was  almost  caress 
ing.  He  had  always  been  insensible  to  fear,  and  his  bold 
black  eyes  looked  danger  insolently  in  the  face.  He  never 
boasted  and  seldom  threatened,  but  the  most  daring  felt  in 
stinctively  he  was  their  superior  in  courage,  and  in  any  com 
pany  of  desperadoes,  he  was  sure  to  be  hailed,  when  he 
became  known,  as  their  natural  leader.  His  personal  charm 
and  force  were,  in  fact,  extraordinary;  had  they  been  ex 
erted  systematically,  he  might  have  achieved  his  object,  for 
his  mind  was  acute  and  even  brilliant,  his  energy  indomitable. 


I48  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

But  he  had  one  fatal  drawback — an  inherent  moral  obliq 
uity  which  always  inclined  him  to  crooked  courses — and 
this,  together  with  his  mania  for  gambling,  had  wrecked 
him  again  and  again  on  the  very  verge  of  success.  He  would 
lie  to  his  best  friend  if  it  suited  the  whim  of  the  moment  or 
some  immediate  purpose ;  even  his  fellow-rogues  found  they 
could  not  trust  him.  He  had  no  faith  in  anything,  and 
looked  upon  the  world  as  a  card  table  at  which  every  man 
and  every  woman  was  playing  a  hand  with  the  object  of 
cheating  whenever  the  chance  offered.  It  was  a  battle  of 
the  strongest,  the  most  cunning.  His  only  theory  of  life 
was  to  make  the  most  profitable  use  of  his  advantages,  to 
fleece  people  remorselessly  when  he  could.  His  victims 
sometimes  turned  on  him,  and  more  than  once,  he  was 
brought  to  bay  or  forced  to  flee,  leaving  behind  him  a 
trail  of  curses  and  a  blackened  name.  But  the  name  mat 
tered  nothing.  For  years,  his  real  name  had  been  buried  in 
oblivion,  and  he  could  not  begin  to  remember  his  many 
aliases.  When  Reeve  met  him,  he  was  figuring  as  Mr. 
Darcy  Montague,  agent  for  a  burlesque  actress,  Miss  Ethel 
Vane,  who  happened,  just  then,  to  be  a  reigning  star  at  one 
of  the  principal  theatres  in  New  York.  She  was  a  beauti 
ful  young  woman  as  well  as  a  clever  actress  and  drew  large 
houses  every  night. 

Luck  seemed  to  have  turned,  at  last,  in  his  favour.  He 
had  "  discovered  "  Miss  Vane,  and  was  sharing  her  sudden 
prosperity.  His  share  was  even  greater  than  his  associates 
supposed.  The  actress  was  completely  under  his  control  and 
took  only  what  he  chose  to  give  her.  Besides  her  earnings, 
he  was  reaping  a  rich  harvest  at  cards  and  at  billiards  from 
wealthy  men  about  town  who  were  willing  to  lose  to  him  in 
return  for  his  influence  with  the  charming  girl.  There  was 
a  perfect  understanding  between  him  and  them,  none  the 
less  binding  because  it  was  tacit.  Wherever  the  actress  ap- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  149 

peared,  men  hastened  to  pay  court  to  her.  Few  were  rash 
enough  to  seek  an  introduction  without  the  means  of  be 
stowing  costly  attentions.  They  took  it  for  granted  that  her 
interest  in  them  must  be  fanned  by  presents,  pleasure  jaunts 
and  dainty  suppers.  The  man  who  aspires  to  the  favour  of 
an  actress  of  Miss  Vane's  type,  unless  he  happen  to  be  a 
celebrity  or  exceptionally  clever,  knows  in  advance  that 
the  amusement  will  be  expensive.  The  great  majority  of 
those  who  swelled  Miss  Vane's  train  had  no  other  claim  to 
recognition  than  the  wealth  which  enabled  them  to  vie  with 
each  other  in  giving  her  pleasure. 

Upon  these,  Edgar  Cheston  did  not  scruple  to  levy  toll. 
It  was  a  form  of  plunder  that  seemed  to  him  to  be  almost 
legitimate  by  comparison  with  some  of  the  schemes  of  robbery 
to  which  he  had  been  reduced.  It  was  the  more  acceptable 
because  he  was  compelled  to  give  but  little  in  return — an 
introduction  to  Miss  Vane,  an  occasional  supper,  graced  by 
the  actress's  presence,  a  chat  with  her  in  the  green  room,  now 
and  then.  These  were  favours  which  she  had  come  to  regard 
as  part  of  the  business  of  her  calling,  but  to  most  of  the  re 
cipients,  they  held  out  promises  of  a  closer  intimacy  that,  as 
yet,  had  not  been  realised,  for  the  reason  that  Edgar  Cheston 
had  no  intention  of  sharing  his  influence  over  her  with  any 
one  else.  The  moths  fluttered  industriously  around  the  candle 
and  merely  succeeded  in  singeing  their  wings.  She  was  his 
money-maker,  his  decoy,  and  he  guarded  her  vigilantly  from 
any  entanglements  that  might  endanger  his  exclusive  pro 
prietorship. 

One  evening,  about  a  week  after  his  meeting  with  Reeve, 
Edgar  entered  the  theatre  at  which  Miss  Vane  was  playing. 
He  had  just  received  an  answer  to  his  inquiry  about  affairs 
at  home,  and  the  news  had  opened  up  a  vista  of  unimagined 
possibilities.  His  active  brain  deduced  from  them,  with 
great  rapidity,  a  definite  scheme  which  appealed  most  strongly 


150  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

to  his  ambition,  his  cupidity,  his  long  treasured  rancoui 
against  his  brother  for  having  usurped  his  place  as  master 
of  the  Manor.  His  chance  had  come  at  last.  The  Manor 
might  yet  be  his.  It  was  in  his  power  to  make  himself  rich, 
not  by  saving  and  protracted  scheming,  but  at  a  single  stroke, 
and  to  return  to  Maryland  metamorphosed  into  a  respecta- 
able  character,  a  capitalist,  a  successful  man.  The  charge  of 
forgery  which  had  compelled  his  sudden  flight,  had  been 
"  settled  "  shortly  afterwards,  through  the  agency  of  Reeve, 
and  the  memory  of  his  other  misdeeds,  no  doubt,  had  long 
since  faded.  All  he  needed  was  the  aid  of  a  clever  young 
woman,  and  none  could  have  been  better  suited  to  his  pur 
poses  than  the  actress  whom  he  had,  unconsciously,  trained 
for  the  very  role  he  wished  her  to  play. 

The  curtain  had  just  risen  when  he  reached  the  theatre 
and  seated  himself  in  the  box  that  was  always  reserved  for 
him.  He  was  in  evening  dress,  and  as  usual,  carefully  "  got 
up."  No  one  would  have  guessed  his  real  age.  Of  superb 
physique,  he  was  still,  in  spite  of  hardships  and  excesses,  an 
alert  and  vigorous-looking  man.  Only  his  valet  knew  that 
his  close-cut  black  hair  owed  its  color  to  skilful  dyeing,  and 
that  many  a  crease  and  wrinkle  were  hidden  by  cosmetics. 
Apparently,  he  was  a  fresh,  healthy  man  of  not  more  than 
forty  years.  His  real  age  was  considerably  over  fifty. 

It  was  not  vanity  alone — and  he  valued  his  personal  ap 
pearance  very  highly,  because  it  had,  almost  invariably,  com 
mended  him  strongly  to  women — that  made  him  wish  to  look 
much  younger  than  he  was.  His  make-up  was  really  a  dis 
guise.  He  still  retained  a  remnant  of  regard  for  his  family 
name,  his  identity  as  a  Cheston,  and  had  always  looked  to 
the  possibility  of  resuming  his  social  position.  None  of  his 
present  acquaintances  knew  him  as  he  was,  with  hair  pre 
maturely  whitened,  the  broken  down,  disreputable  outcast 
from  the  Manor.  To  them,  he  was  only  the  well-bred,  jovial 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  151 

bon  vivant,  Darcy  Montague.  He  had  but  to  discard  the 
latter's  name,  his  dyes  and  his  pomades,  to  sink  his  fictitious 
personality  and  become  Edgar  Cheston  once  more  with  but 
little  risk  of  discovery.  He  congratulated  himself,  now, 
on  his  prudence.  His  counterfeit  double  could  scarcely 
fail  to  be  of  the  greatest  advantage  to  him  in  the  prosecution 
of  his  fraud.  By  changing  suddenly  from  make-believe  to 
reality,  from  a  comparatively  youthful  man  to  one  past  middle 
age,  he  would  be  able  to  carry  Ethel  off  to  Maryland  with 
impunity  and  baffle  any  inquiry  that  might  be  set  on  foot. 
He  had  deceived  her,  also,  as  to  his  age,  and  had  strong 
reasons  for  wishing  to  keep  up  the  fiction  with  her,  but  there 
was  no  choice.  He  must  let  her  into  his  secret,  if  he  was  to 
succeed,  and  he  was  ready  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  the  end 
he  had  in  view. 

It  seemed  to  Edgar,  as  he  watched  her  from  his  box,  that 
Ethel  Vane  had  never  been  so  fascinating  as  to-night,  the  last, 
he  hoped,  of  her  appearance  on  the  stage.  The  piece  was  a 
musical  travesty,  written  for  her  and  cleverly  contrived  to  show 
her  special  gifts  to  the  best  advantage.  She  was  a  versatile 
mimic,  with  a  demure  naturalness  which  gave  to  all  her 
impersonations — especially  those  that  had  a  spice  of  mischief 
in  them — a  piquant  charm.  But  it  was  her  beauty,  her 
grace,  her  wonderful  freshness  and  spontaneity  that  chiefly 
captivated  the  house.  Her  mere  presence  on  the  stage 
gave  life  and  colour  to  the  scene,  the  action,  the  words, 
however  tame.  To-night,  she  was  radiant ;  she  carried  her 
audience  with  her — the  women  as  well  as  the  men — in 
delighted  suspense,  awaiting  some  new  trick  or  turn  of  ex 
pression  more  subtle  than  any  of  the  vivid  yet  delicate 
touches  with  which  she  had  practically  re-created  her  part. 

Edgar  studied  her  with  a  new  pride  of  possession,  a 
keener  zest  than  he  had  ever  felt  before  in  her  success,  even 
she  had  won  such  an  unequivocal  triumph  at  her  de'but. 


152  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

It  was  he  who  had  first  recognised  her  powers,  who  had 
educated  and  trained  her  carefully  for  this  work.  But  for 
him,  she  might  have  remained  unknown,  or  at  any  rate, 
obscure.  His  thoughts  travelled  back  exultantly  to  the  day 
when,  a  child  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  she  had  been  committed 
to  his  care  by  her  father,  an  English  actor,  who  had  been 
a  fellow-adventurer  in  the  west. 

The  two  men  had  been  attracted  to  each  other  by  mutual 
recognition  of  their  social  superiority  to  those  about  them 
and  the  similarity  of  their  fortunes  and  their  traits.  Like 
Edgar,  Dick  Milbank  had  once  been  a  gentleman.  Like 
him,  also,  he  was  a  gambler,  a  spendthrift,  a  debauchee.  He, 
too,  had  left  his  home  under  a  cloud,  and  meant  never  to 
return  unless  he  could  make  a  fortune.  A  confiding  woman 
had  accompanied  him,  and  she  was  dead.  The  two  com 
pared  notes,  and  agreed  that  life,  thus  far,  had  been  equally 
hard  on  them  and  much  in  the  same  way.  They  were  in 
perfect  accord  in  the  determination  to  indemnify  them 
selves  as  best  they  could,  without  regard  to  the  means.  It 
was  not  long  before  they  formed  a  kind  of  partnership  in 
preying  upon  their  fellows.  Their  joint  ventures  were  suffi 
ciently  profitable  to  bind  them  more  closely  together. 
Neither  trusted  the  other  fully,  but  each  felt  a  greater  degree 
of  confidence  in  his  comrade  than  in  anyone  else. 

Hence  it  happened  that  Milbank,  stricken  with  an  illness 
which  he  knew  to  be  fatal,  placed  his  daughter  in  Edgar's 
charge.  "  Her  mother  is  dead,"  he  explained,  "  it  is  a  long 
way  to  England,  and  there  is  no  money  in  my  family  or  my 
wife's.  What  there  was,  I  spent  long  ago.  I  have  a  few 
thousands  in  bank.  Take  them  and  educate  Ethel  to  be  a 
governess  or  something  else  a  lady  may  be.  I  must  trust 
her  to  you,  Edgar  ;  there  is  no  one  else.  Promise  me  you'll 
be  square  about  this.  Both  of  us  are  gentlemen — or  were 
gentlemen,  once.  You  won't  go  back  on  me  ? " 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  153 

Edgar  promised  readily  enough.  It  would  be  very  con 
venient  to  have  a  "  few  thousands  "  to  handle  for  Ethel's 
education  or  for  other  purposes,  as  events  and  his  necessities 
might  decide.  As  it  happened,  he  fulfilled  his  trust  to  the 
extent  of  spending  most  of  the  money  on  Ethel.  As  the  child 
grew  to  girlhood,  she  developed  a  beauty  and  charm  which, 
Edgar  perceived,  might  be  made  to  yield  a  handsome  profit 
on  the  investment.  He  educated  her  with  the  greatest  care, 
with  the  deliberate  intention  of  fashioning  her  for  his  own 
selfish  purposes.  She  was  given  the  best  masters  in  lan« 
guages,  in  music,  in  painting.  Edgar  himself  taught  her  to 
ride,  to  dance,  to  fence,  and  drilled  her  inexorably  in  all 
matters  of  etiquette  and  deportment.  She  became  a  finished 
gentlewoman  in  manner,  with  the  special  air  of  distinction 
at  which  he  aimed.  If  he  ever  had  the  chance,  he  meant 
she  should  fly  at  high  game. 

The  girl  gradually  fell  under  the  domination  of  the  charm 
which  he  was  always  able  to  exert  when  he  chose.  She  did 
not  love  him,  but  she  was  fascinated  by  him.  She  yielded 
submissively  to  what  seemed  to  her  to  be  an  imperious 
force.  He  was  her  protector,  her  guardian,  her  task-master 
who  must  be  obeyed,  whether  she  wished  or  not,  and  there 
was  a  judicious  mixture  of  indulgence  with  tyranny  which 
made  her  often  fancy  she  was  happy.  Accustomed  to  a 
wandering,  hap-hazard  life  with  her  father,  without  the  com 
panionship  of  women,  she  found  nothing  strange  in  the  fact 
that  Edgar  permitted  no  intimacies  with  others  of  her  sex, 
and  she  was  conscious  of  no  special  loss  in  her  isolation. 
Thus,  she  grew  up  contented  in  the  atmosphere  which  Edgar 
had  purposely  created  for  her,  and  knew  but  few  ideas  ex 
cept  such  as  she  imbibed  from  him.  She  had  read  a  good 
deal  and  was  well  informed,  but  all  her  opinions  of  life,  of 
religion,  of  morals,  had  filtered  through  the  medium  of  his 
cynical  intelligence,  and  she  accepted  his  judgments  as  con- 


154  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

elusive  from  the  mere  force  of  habit.  He  had  made  of  her 
a  lovely  young  heathen  who  shrank  from  nothing  he  deemed 
it  convenient  to  propose. 

Edgar  felt  an  arrogant  confidence  in  his  mastery,  which 
he  believed  to  be  complete,  of  her  most  secret  impulses. 
She  was  an  instrument  on  which  he  could  play  almost  any 
imaginable  tune.  And  these  people  before  him  in  the  pit 
fancied  she  was  theirs,  in  a  certain  sense ;  that  she  de 
pended  on  their  favour,  their  applause.  A  word  from  him, 
and  she  would  vanish  forever  from  their  gaze.  He  was 
about  to  speak  this  word.  Glancing  down  at  them  ironi 
cally,  he  muttered  beneath  his  breath,  "  Gaze  your  fill,  my 
friends  ;  you'll  never  have  another  chance." 

After  the  performance,  Edgar  accompanied  the  actress 
home.  She  had  apartments  in  a  quiet  neighbourhood  not  far 
from  the  theatre.  These,  she  had  fitted  up  luxuriously,  to  suit 
her  own  ideas  of  taste  and  comfort,  creating  an  atmosphere 
of  elegance  which  impressed  the  most  sceptical  of  her  visit 
ors  with  the  feeling  that  she  was  really  as  fastidious  and  re 
fined  as  she  seemed  to  be.  Besides  the  parlour,  dining-room 
and  bedroom,  there  was  a  small  library  stocked  with  stand 
ard  works  which  gave  evidence  of  use.  The  leading  maga 
zines  and  reviews  of  the  day  lay  scattered  on  a  centre  table. 
The  walls  of  this  room  and  also  of  the  parlour  were  embel 
lished  with  paintings  by  French  artists,  now  famous,  but 
then,  almost  unknown.  Among  them  were  several  exquisite 
water  colours  by  hapless  Leon  Bonvin.  In  one  corner  of  the 
parlour,  a  piano  stood  open,  with  one  of  Schubert's  songs 
upon  the  rack.  Miss  Vane  had  the  gift  of  music;  her 
voice,  a  mezzo  soprano,  was  one  of  unusual  richness  and 
power. 

It  was  into  this  room  she  ushered  Edgar,  and  excusing 
herself,  withdrew  to  remove  her  wraps.  She  took  it  for 
granted  he  would  stay  for  supper.  It  was  his  habit  to  do  so 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  155 

almost  every  night.  She  was  absent  but  a  few  minutes,  and 
when  she  returned,  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room  was 
thrown  open  by  a  sedate-looking  waiter  with  the  announce 
ment  that  supper  was  served.  At  a  nod  from  Edgar,  the 
man  withdrew,  leaving  them  alone  at  table.  He  was  used 
to  these  intimations ;  it  was  only  when  the  actress  had  other 
visitors  that  he  was  permitted  to  remain.  As  soon  as  he 
was  safely  out  of  earshot,  Edgar  exclaimed, 

"  I  have  news  for  you,  my  girl !  " 

"  Some  rich  haul  ?  "  asked  Ethel,  with  a  laugh  and  a 
shrug  of  her  finely  rounded  shoulders.  She  imagined  he 
had  had  a  great  stroke  at  cards.  It  was  always  a  matter  of 
self-congratulation  for  her  when  he  succeeded  in  "  plucking  " 
some  rich  fool.  She  felt,  then,  that  she  had  played  the 
game  well,  and  it  amused  her  to  learn  which  one  of  her  ad 
mirers  had  suffered  at  his  hands,  and  to  gauge  the  extent  of 
his  infatuation  for  her  by  the  amount  he  consented  to  lose. 
She  was  never  moved  to  pity  for  their  victims.  Pity  !  It 
would  be  wasted  upon  them.  One  and  all,  they  were  selfish 
speculators  for  her  favour.  None  of  them,  she  saw  clearly 
enough,  regarded  her  as  aught  but  a  beautiful  toy  to  be 
played  with  and  broken  and  flung  away  when  they  tired  of 
it.  She  had  seen  the  thing  done  over  and  over  again  with 
other  women,  and  shivered,  at  times,  at  the  thought  that  it 
might  ultimately  be  her  fate.  There  was  not  a  man  among 
them  who  valued  her  except  for  her  beauty,  her  transient 
charm.  All  of  them  looked  upon  her  with  greedy,  calculat 
ing  eyes,  appraising  her  as  they  might  have  appraised  any 
rare  animal.  Some  were  fawning,  some  confident,  some 
insolent,  even,  but  without  exception,  they  seemed  to  assume 
that  she  could  be  bought ;  for  them,  it  was  but  a  question  of 
money  and  of  time.  It  was  clearly  her  right  to  amuse  her 
self  at  their  expense,  to  make  them  fetch  and  carry,  to  guide 
them  skilfully  into  Edgar's  web.  Were  all  men  like  them  ? 


i $6  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

She  had  read  of  some  in  books,  who  were  very  different,  who 
might  have  been  worth  sparing  had  she  ever  met  them  in 
real  life.  Her  experience  made  her  think  they  must  be 
either  imaginary  or  so  exceptional  as  to  be  very  rare  ;  she 
did  not  know  that  Edgar  had  taken  care  she  should  be 
thrown  with  only  certain  types. 

"  A  richer  haul  than  you  can  imagine,"  said  Edgar,  with 
more  excitement  than  he  cared  to  show.  His  hand  trembled 
as  he  lifted  a  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips.  "  What  would  you 
say,"  he  asked,  with  a  touch  of  anxiety — after  all,  he  was 
not  absolutely  sure  of  her  acquiescence  in  his  plans — "  to 
leaving  the  stage  and  becoming  a  lady  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  !  "  she  said  carelessly,  leaning  back 
in  her  chair  and  clasping  her  hands  behind  her  shapely 
head,  with  its  mass  of  silky,  glittering  hair,  which  resembled 
spun  gold.  "  The  stage  intoxicates  me ;  I  am  never  so 
thoroughly  alive  as  when  I  am  on  the  boards.  It  is  exhil 
arating  to  feel  that  one  rouses  people  and  holds  them  in 
constant  suspense;  it  gives  one  such  a  sense  of  power." 

"  But  a  comedy  in  real  life  ?  Suppose  you  were  playing  a 
part  with  people  actually  in  earnest  for  the  rest  of  the 
cast  ? " 

"  You  don't  mean  it !  "  she  exclaimed,  throwing  herself 
forward  and  resting  her  arms  on  the  table,  her  blue  eyes 
gleaming. 

"  And  what  if  you  were  playing,  not  for  a  few  hundreds  a 
night,  but  for  a  fortune,  an  assured  position  ?  " 

"  As  a  lady,  you  said,"  she  added  eagerly.  "  I  am  one 
already,  I  suppose,"  she  continued,  with  a  touch  of  irony. 
"  But  what  does  it  amount  to,  if  I  am  never  to  be  recognised  ? 
I  suppose  you  mean  I  should  be  introduced  to  proper  people 
and  associate  with  them  as  one  of  themselves — not  a  mere 
Bohemian,  received  on  sufferance,  as  now." 

"Precisely.     I   have  found  the   right  setting,  the  true 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  157 

atmosphere  for  you.  It  is  an  out-of-the-way  corner  of  Mary 
land,  among  people  who  would  never  suspect  your  past ; 
who  would  be  horrified  at  the  discovery  that  you  had  been 
an  actress ;  who  would  accept  you,  unsuspiciously,  as  their 
equal.  They  are  very  exclusive,  very  exacting,  and  more  or 
less  refined.  They  would  put  you  to  your  trumps,  my  dear." 

"  Delightful  1  "  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands.  "  It  is  easy 
enough  to  move  an  audience  by  merely  repeating  some  man's 
words,  but  to  invent  the  dialogue  for  yourself,  to  make  it 
suit  this  or  that  individual,  to  shape  the  action  to  a  fitting 
denouement — that  would  be  a  fine  piece  of  work.  And  to 
be  really  respectable — I  should  enjoy  that ;  it  would  be  a 
novel  experience  for  me." 

She  spoke  without  bitterness,  with  no  intention  of  re 
proaching  him  for  her  social  outlawry.  He  had  done  the 
best  he  could  for  her,  she  fancied ;  it  was  not  his  fault. 

"  I  think  the  role  would  fit  you  like  a  glove,"  said  Edgar, 
greatly  pleased  at  the  impression  he  had  made.  "  It  is  that 
of  an  ingenue,  and  no  one  plays  that  part  better.  You  will 
have  to  pose  as  my  daughter.  As  I  have  told  you,  I  had 
but  one  child,  and  she  died  years  ago,  a  baby,  but  the  people 
in  Maryland  don't  know.  No  one  knows,  except  two  or 
three  persons  out  West,  and  they  are  not  likely  to  turn  up. 
I  have  just  ascertained  that  the  sum  of  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars  was  bequeathed  to  my  wife  by  her  grandfather  in 
Maryland,  and  failing  her,  to  our  child.  You  must  be  that 
child.  The  money  is  in  the  hands  of  trustees,  including  my 
wife's  father — a  clergyman.  If  -we  can  lay  hands  on  it,  I 
may  be  able  to  buy  my  old  home,  the  Manor,  which  I  have 
often  described  to  you.  My  brother,  I  hear,  is  nearly  bank 
rupt.  He  owes  me  money ;  it  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to 
force  a  sale.  Think  of  me,  a  sedate  country  gentleman, 
and  you,  the  granddaughter  of  the  rector  of  the  parish,  and 
my  banker — if  you  please  1 " 


158  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

For  the  first  time,  the  actress  looked  thoughtful. 

"  It  might  be  dangerous,"  she  said.  "  Isn't  it  what  is 
called  obtaining  money  under  false  pretences  ?  Suppose 
we  were  detected  ?  Neither  of  us,  I  fancy,  would  care  to  go 
to  jail." 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  said  Edgar.  "  I  have  thought  it  all 
over,  and  there  isn't  one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  discovery. 
It's  merely  a  bit  of  comedy.  Besides,  if  there  should  be  a 
leak,  the  family,  for  their  own  sakes,  would  hush  things  up ; 
no  outsider  will  be  concerned." 

Ethel  tossed  her  head  with  a  resolute  air.  If  they  were 
not  found  out,  it  would  make  no  difference  to  her  what 
her  culpability  might  be.  Edgar  had  taught  her  to  have  no 
scruples.  For  her,  as  for  him,  life  was  merely  a  contest  of  wits, 
without  regard  to  what  Edgar  was  pleased  to  term  cant 
ideas  of  morality.  "  At  any  rate,"  she  said,  "  it  is  a  pleasanter 
way  of  getting  money  ;  I  shall  have  no  odious  men  to  entice. 
But  do  you  really  think  I  am  equal  to  it  ?  I  don't  know 
your  people  ;  I  fancy  I  should  have  to  be  very  proper." 

"  Very  proper,  indeed  !  "  said  Edgar,  with  a  half-sneering 
laugh. 

"  That,  in  itself,  might  be  diverting.  I  have  never  had 
the  chance  to  play  that  part.  You  are  sure  I  could  carry  it 
through  ?  And  am  I  really  lady-like — I  mean  in  their 
way  ?  " 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,"  said  Edgar  promptly.  "  I  re 
member  perfectly  all  the  little  tricks  of  speech  and  deport 
ment  that  were  considered  the  correct  thing  at  the  Manor 
in  my  mother's  day.  I  taught  you  to  be  the  same  kind  of 
lady  my  sisters  were.  Your  manners  are  modelled  on 
theirs,  though  I  fancy  you  would  astonish  them  with  some 
of  your  views ;  they  were  very  devout  as  young  girls." 

"I  can't  promise  to  be  devout,"  said  Ethel  flippantly,  "I 
haven't  the  figure  for  it.  Somehow,  I've  always  associated 


A  MARY-LAND  MANOR  159 

religion  with  women  who  have  no  waists  ;  it  seems  natural  to 
them — a  kind  of  refuge  from  utter  insignificance.  You've 
often  told  me  piety  was  a  waste  of  energy  in  a  pretty  girl. 
It  isn't  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  be  devout,  is  it?  " 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  said  Edgar,  with  a  satisfied  laugh  and  a 
flash  of  something  warmer  than  mere  admiration  in  his 
glowing  black  eyes.  She  was  perfect,  this  girl — a  beautiful 
blonde  Delilah,  so  innocent,  so  fair  to  the  eye,  who  mocked 
at  everything  he  wished  her  to  mock  at,  who  would  fly 
straight  for  whatever  he  wanted,  like  an  arrow  shot  from 
a  bow,  without  a  twinge  or  a  scruple  or  an  inconvenient 
thought.  "  You  are  strong  enough  as  you  are,"  he  added. 
"  Still,  it  would  be  more  prudent  to  conform  to  religious  as 
well  as  other  prejudices ;  they're  a  bigoted  lot,  down  there 
in  the  country." 

"  Well,  it's  worth  trying,"  said  Ethel.  "  If  we  fail,  I  can 
go  back  to  the  stage  ;  I'm  sure  of  my  footing  there." 

"  We  won't  fail,"  said  Edgar,  decidedly.  He  was  con 
fident  that,  with  her  aid,  success  was  assured.  "We  will 
start  for  Maryland  to-morrow,"  he  added,  "  you,  at  any  rate, 
will  be  welcomed  with  open  arms." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

EDGAR  gave  no  notice  to  the  manager  of  the  theatre  of 
Miss  Vane's  determination  to  quit  the  stage.  He  wished 
her  to  vanish  utterly,  leaving  no  trace.  It  might  be  incon 
venient  if  they  were  followed ;  no  one  at  home  must  be  able 
to  obtain  a  clue  which  might  lead  to  the  discovery  of  the 
actress's  identity  as  Dick  Milbank's  child.  His  arrange 
ments  were  made  with  the  utmost  secrecy,  and  by  five 
o'clock  on  the  following  afternoon,  he  and  Ethel  were  speed 
ing  in  an  express  train  south,  leaving  all  their  acquaint 
ances  in  ignorance  of  their  departure. 

The  sudden  disappearance  of  the  actress  -*as  a  grievous 
surpri^,  Aot  only  to  the  manager  of  the  theatre,  who  was 
making  a  fortune  out  of  the  engagement,  but  to  her  train  of 
admirers,  who  excitedly  discussed  the  situation  in  the  lobby 
of  the  theatre  that  night.  When  it  was  discovered  that 
Darcy  Montague,  too,  was  missing,  the  opinion  became 
general  that  he  and  the  actress  had  been  bought  off  by  some 
millionaire.  Each  wealthy  roue  looked  suspiciously  at  his 
neighbour.  Who  was  the  successful  man  ?  Evidently,  not 
one  of  those  present.  All  of  them  showed  a  jealous  anger, 
an  eager  curiosity  too  earnest  to  be  feigned.  Could  it  be 
that  the  clever  rascal,  Montague,  had  duped  them  all  ? 
Had  he  made  some  great  coup,  which  had  satisfied  his  cu 
pidity  and  tempted  him  to  run  off  with  the  beautiful  girl  ? 
After  all,  who  knew  the  actual  relations  between  them  ?  He 
had  seemed  quite  indifferent  to  the  attentions  she  received, 
and  why  should  he  not  be  secretly  sure  of  her  ?  No  one  could 
deny  he  was  a  brilliant,  fascinating  fellow,  if  verging  on 

1 60 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  161 

middle  age.  It  was  quite  possible  she  really  cared  for 
him.  This  theory  seemed  the  most  plausible.  It  was  an 
irritating  one,  particularly  for  the  men  who  had  lost  large 
sums  to  Edgar.  They  had  squandered  their  money  use 
lessly.  The  scoundrel  had  swindled  them.  The  most 
callous  suffered  keenly  at  the  thought  that  not  only  might 
they  never  see  the  charming  actress  again,  but  it  was 
practically  certain  she  had  never  thought  seriously  of  them, 
but,  all  the  time,  had  been  laughing  with  Edgar  at  their  folly. 

They  might  have  found  some  consolation  in  the  fact,  had 
they  known  it,  that  the  actress  had  not  left  them  as  willingly 
as  they  supposed.  As  she  was  about  to  set  out  on  her 
journey,  Ethel  had  had  a  rude  awakening.  At  the  last  mo 
ment,  Edgar  presented  himself  completely  transformed.  To 
her  great  astonishment,  she  beheld  not  the  jaunty,  black-haired 
swell  whom  she  had  always  known  —  apparently  robust 
and  active — but  a  much  older  man.  She  had  known  that 
his  youthfulness  was  due  in  part  to  fictitious  means,  but  she 
was  horrified  by  the  reality  of  his  appearance.  At  first,  she 
thought  he  had  assumed  a  disguise.  When  he  told  her,  not 
without  an  effort,  that  she  saw  him  as  he  really  was,  a  cry  of 
alarm  and  disgust  escaped  her.  His  personal  influence 
vanished  instantly.  She  shrank  from  him  with  a  feeling  of 
indignation  as  she  remembered  the  power  he  had  always 
wielded  over  her.  Had  he  ever  been  honest  with  her  ?  Was 
she,  too,  only  one  of  his  dupes  ? 

Her  eyes  flashed  dangerously  at  the  thought,  and  she 
was  on  the  point  of  refusing  to  go  farther  in  his  scheme 
when  she  reflected  that,  as  he  could  do  nothing  without  her, 
she  might  be  able  to  get  the  upper  hand  of  him,  perhaps  to 
rid  herself  of  him  altogether.  Upon  thinking  it  over,  the 
night  before,  his  project  had  grown  upon  her.  There  was 
now  a  strong  incentive  to  make  trial  of  it.  The  very  fact 
that  he  had  suddenly  become  repulsive  made  a  change  of 
ii 


162  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

scenes  and  surroundings  seem  the  more  welcome.  And  if 
she  could  gain  her  freedom — ah,  that  would  be  worth  while  ! 
All  at  once,  she  was  acutely  conscious  of  her  slavery  and 
burning  to  throw  it  off. 

It  was  with  great  reluctance,  however,  that  she  actually 
started  on  the  journey.  The  change  in  Edgar  had  upset  all 
her  calculations.  Her  zest  in  the  adventure  had  vanished. 
Besides,  she  was  afraid  of  him.  If  he  could  trick  her  so 
flagrantly  once,  he  might  do  it  again.  He  had  deceived  her 
grossly.  How  could  she  ever  have  been  attracted  by  him 
had  she  known  him  for  what  he  really  was — a  vicious-look 
ing  old  man  ?  She  must  have  recoiled  from  him  at  first  as 
she  recoiled  from  him  now.  She  felt  the  instinctive  shrink 
ing  of  youth  and  beauty  from  physical  decay.  What  a  silly 
fool  she  had  been  !  How  he  must  have  gloated  in  secret  over 
the  ease  with  which  he  had  imposed  upon  her !  She  quivered 
with  a  sense  of  outrage.  Well,  perhaps,  her  turn  would 
come. 

Edgar  was  fully  conscious  of  the  ugly  impression  he  had 
made  upon  her,  but  he  did  not  suspect  the  dangerous  ten 
dency  of  her  thoughts.  He  suffered  keenly.  It  cut  him  to 
the  quick  to  feel  that  he  was  an  object  of  repugnance  to  a 
woman — above  all  to  her.  That  had  never  happened  to  him 
before.  Her  glance  of  astonishment,  followed  by  one  of  dis 
may,  made  him  feel  as  well  as  look  his  age.  All  was  over, 
so  far  as  his  power  to  please  her  was  concerned.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  had  no  fear  of  open  revolt.  She  was  safely 
bound,  he  fancied,  by  the  ties  of  habit.  Besides,  he  knew 
he  had  roused  her  ambition.  Her  interest  in  the  success  of 
their  undertaking  was  scarcely  less  keen  than  his  own. 

The  rector  of  Winton  parish,  the  Reverend  Stephen  Ma- 
gruder,  had  received  a  brief,  hurried  letter  from  Edgar  in 
forming  him  of  the  existence  of  his  granddaughter  and  ap 
prising  him  of  their  intended  visit.  So  confident  had 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  163 

Edgar  been  of  enlisting  the  actress's  aid,  that  he  had  has 
tened  to  communicate  with  the  Rector  as  soon  as  he  had  con 
ceived  his  plan.  Mr.  Magruder  was  a  benignant  old  man, 
whom  many  trials  had  only  sweetened.  He  was  unsuspicious 
and  tender-hearted,  the  most  guileless,  most  ingenuous  of 
men.  His  theology  was  broadly  exculpatory  and  tolerant. 
The  simplicity  of  country  life  had  reduced  his  articles  of 
faith  to  primitive  terms.  The  fine  abstractions  of  city  pulpits 
seemed  to  him  to  have  no  place  here.  His  parishioners  had 
their  faults  and  follies  against  which  he  warned  them  plainly, 
but  his  chief  concern  was  to  minister  to  their  daily  needs, 
to  contribute,  so  far  as  he  could,  to  the  sum  of  the  general 
happiness.  He  believed  in  happiness  on  earth  as  well  as 
in  Heaven — not  perfect  happiness,  of  course,  but  a  degree 
of  it,  varying,  in  his  opinion,  according  to  circumstances, 
rather  than  the  moral  perversity  of  mankind.  He  gave  large 
weight  to  heredity,  to  environment,  to  chance,  and  he  liked 
to  think  a  reprobate  might  have  been  a  good  man,  had  the 
conditions  been  favourable  to  him.  In  his  lonely  drives  and 
walks  when  making  the  rounds  of  his  parish,  he  was  often 
conscious  of  a  mysterious  presence  in  Nature  which  seemed 
to  him  to  be  the  impalpable  vesture  of  God.  In  it,  he  found 
something  infinitely  broader  than  his  own  special  creed,  and 
while  he  preached  only  what  he  believed  to  be  the  orthodox 
dogmas,  he  infused  into  his  sermons,  as  well  as  into  his  life, 
a  loving  sympathy  with  humanity  as  part  of  an  inscrutable 
whole,  made  up  of  divers  elements,  which  no  earthly  mind 
could  reconcile  or  explain. 

There  was  but  one  individual  in  all  the  world  who,  he 
feared,  might  prove  to  be  irreclaimable,  and  this  man  was 
Edgar  Cheston.  The  bitter  sense  of  personal  wrong  doubt 
less  influenced  even  his  gentle  spirit.  He  had  known  Edgar 
in  early  boyhood,  and  even  then  had  been  unable,  with  all 
his  tolerance,  to  find  much  good  in  him.  His  excesses  as 


164  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

a  young  man  had  often  grieved  him,  and,  at  length,  he  suf 
fered  an  agonising  blow  at  his  hands,  when  Edgar  persuaded 
his  darling  child  to  share  his  disgrace  and  hurried  her  off  to 
her  death,  beyond  the  reach  of  his  sympathy  and  love.  He 
wrestled  long  with  himself  before  he  could  be  sure  he  had 
forgiven,  and  he  had  never  yet  reached  the  point  of  complete 
resignation  to  his  loss.  The  news  that  his  daughter's  child 
was  alive,  that  she  was  soon  to  be  with  him,  seemed  to  him 
a  special  dispensation  to  requite  him,  as  far  as  he  could  be 
requited,  for  the  loneliness  and  grief  of  all  these  years.  He 
fell  on  his  knees  and  poured  out  his  heart  in  gratitude  to 
God.  It  seemed  to  him  there  might  be  hope  of  Edgar  after 
all.  He  felt  he  could  receive  him,  as  he  should  receive  him, 
kindly.  Was  he  not  bringing  him  an  unlooked-for,  a  pre 
cious  boon  ?  The  day  of  their  arrival  was  a  day  of  extreme 
agitation  for  him.  He  busied  himself  eagerly  with  every  de 
tail  of  preparation  at  the  Rectory,  and  as  the  hour  when 
they  might  be  expected  drew  near,  he  seated  himself  on  the 
front  verandah  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  white  line  of  road 
beyond  the  churchyard,  where  any  vehicle  must  first  appear. 
When  dinner  was  announced,  he  did  not  stir. 

Not  so  his  sister,  Mrs.  Tippett,  who  had  been  sitting  be 
side  him,  placidly  knitting.  Ever  since  the  death  of  his 
wife,  many  years  before,  Mrs.  Tippett,  a  childless  widow, 
had  been  the  domestic  ruler  at  the  Rectory  and  her  brother's 
coadjutor  in  the  parish.  She  was  a  phlegmatic  person,  and 
on  this  occasion,  though  secretly  disturbed,  she  did  not  fail, 
as  usual,  to  make  a  satisfactory  dinner.  Although  she 
sought  to  convey  the  impression  of  being  spiritually-minded, 
she  often  betrayed  a  keen  regard  for  creature  comforts,  and 
seemed  to  think  it  almost  irreligious  to  miss  a  meal.  Like 
most  self-indulgent  people,  she  was  usually  amiable  from 
the  desire  to  get  on  easily,  with  the  least  friction  or  effort. 
Underneath  her  apparent  meekness,  however,  there  was  hid- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  165 

den  an  eager,  contriving  spirit.  She  aimed  to  be  the  source 
of  activity  throughout  the  parish  ;  the  providence  and  arbiter 
of  every  needy  and  distracted  household  ;  the  acknowledged 
head  of  authority  and  of  all  efforts  to  "do  good."  She 
was  not  really  soft-hearted,  and  was  seldom  moved  by  poverty 
or  distress  to  any  deep  feeling  ;  it  happened,  merely,  that  a 
meddlesome  beneficence  was  the  only  means  she  had  of  ob 
taining  power  and  applause.  She  was  naturally  despotic, 
and  often  insisted  on  "  doing  "  for  people  who  did  not  want 
her  help  ;  occasionally,  she  even  went  so  far  as  to  dragoon 
those  who  did  not  seem  to  know  what  was  good  for  them. 

The  news  that  the  Rector's  granddaughter  was  alive  and 
about  to  make  her  appearance  on  the  scene  affected  her  un 
pleasantly.  The  girl,  if  she  were  at  all  self-assertive,  might 
prove  troublesome.  Very  probably,  she  would  have  to  yield 
the  control  of  the  household  to  her.  The  influence  she  had 
wielded  so  long  over  her  gentle,  absent-minded  brother,  would 
be  disputed.  Her  great-niece  might  even  take  it  upon  her 
self  to  interfere  in  the  parish  work.  And  hardest  of  all  to 
bear,  she  would  deprive  her  of  a  large  sum  of  money.  Under 
the  terms  of  the  will  bequeathing  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars  to  Edgar  Cheston's  wife,  or  her  child  if  she  left  one, 
the  money  was  to  be  divided  between  her  (Mrs.  Tippett)  and 
her  brother  at  the  end  of  a  specified  number  of  years,  if  it 
still  remained  unclaimed.  As  the  period  had  almost  expired, 
she  had  felt  confident  of  receiving  her  share  and  had  amused 
herself  by  considering  a  variety  of  schemes  of  sensational 
charity  which  the  possession  of  so  large  a  sum  would  enable 
her  to  realise.  She  had  never  felt  a  harder  shock  than  when 
she  was  suddenly  awakened  from  her  day-dream  by  the  letter 
from  Edgar  which  her  brother  handed  her  with  eyes  moist 
with  joyful  tears.  By  a  great  effort,  she  managed  to  hide  her 
chagrin  and  assume  a  tender  air  of  sympathy  with  the  Rector's 
delight. 


166  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

The  sound  of  carriage  wheels  was  heard  at  last,  and  a 
moment  later,  an  antiquated  coach,  which  the  Rector  recog 
nised  as  belonging  to  the  tavern  in  the  county  town,  turned 
in  at  the  gate. 

"  They  are  here,  Dorothea  !  "  he  cried,  rising  hastily,  as 
his  sister  emerged  from  the  hall  door. 

"  Compose  yourself,  Stephen,"  she  said,  purring  softly,  as 
she  paused  to  smooth  with  both  hands  her  already  sleek 
gray  hair.  She  always  deprecated  any  excitement ;  it  was 
so  upsetting. 

As  the  carriage  rolled  up  to  the  door,  the  Rector  hastened 
down  the  steps,  his  spare  form,  slightly  bowed,  trembling 
visibly.  A  tall,  white-haired  man,  erect  and  strong,  with  his 
shoulders  thrown  well  back,  sprang  out  of  the  carriage  and 
came  up  the  gravelled  path  to  meet  him.  The  Rector  knew 
Edgar  Cheston  at  once.  But  how  changed  from  the  hand 
some,  agile  young  fellow  who  had  stolen  his  darling's  heart 
from  him !  Vice  had  set  its  ugly  stamp  upon  him.  The 
coarsened  features,  the  bold,  insolent  eyes,  the  heavily 
graven  lines  in  the  colourless  face,  spoke  only  too  plainly  of 
prolonged  indulgence  of  the  passions.  The  Rector  shrank 
from  him,  disillusioned ;  it  were  idle  to  look  for  reformation 
here ;  eager  as  he  was  to  think  less  harshly  of  him,  he  could 
not  hide  from  himself  the  sad  conviction  that  Edgar  was  one 
who  still  proclaimed,  "  Evil,  be  thou  my  good  !  " 

He  forced  himself  to  hold  out  his  hands,  and  to  say,  in  a 
broken  voice, 

"  Welcome,  Edgar." 

He  was  welcome,  in  spite  of  all,  because  his  daughter  was 
with  him. 

"  You  have  really  brought  me  my  dear  one's  child  ?  "  the 
Rector  added,  anxiously. 

Edgar  drew  back  with  a  look  of  alarm.  What  did  he 
mean  by  "  really  "  ?  Could  the  old  man  have  heard  any- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  167 

thing  to  excite  his  suspicions  ?  Of  course  not.  It  was  only 
a  chance  word  that  meant  nothing.  The  expression  of  the 
Rector's  face  at  once  reassured  him.  There  was  naught  but 
eager  longing  written  there.  For  answer,  Edgar  turned  to 
the  carriage  and  gave  his  hand  to  Ethel  Vane  who  sprang 
out  lightly  and  stood  gazing  at  the  Rector  with  a  well-acted 
air  of  timidity. 

The  old  clergyman's  fine  face  lit  up  at  sight  of  the  beauti 
ful  girl.  Opening  his  arms,  he  folded  her  to  his  bosom,  ex 
claiming  softly,  "  Ah,  my  darling,  I  have  longed  for  you  so !  " 

The  actress  yielded  herself  to  his  caresses  with  something 
more  than  a  pretence  of  warmth.  She  felt  intuitively  that 
he  was  a  good  man — though  she  knew  next  to  nothing  of 
goodness  and  had  cared  very  little  about  it  hitherto — and 
that  he  offered  her  something  she  had  been  an  utter  stranger 
to — an  unselfish  sympathy  and  love  that  seemed  sweet  to 
her,  she  could  hardly  have  said  why.  Perhaps,  her  feeling 
sprang  from  the  sense  of  contrast  with  Edgar  Cheston's 
cold-blooded  duplicity  so  suddenly  revealed  to  her — a  revela 
tion  that  had  robbed  her  of  the  only  kind  of  affection  she  had 
ever  known.  For  the  moment,  she  looked  what  she  wished 
to  be  taken  for — an  ingenuous,  amiable  girl,  who  Was  quite 
ready  to  reciprocate  his  tenderness.  Edgar  felt  like  ap 
plauding  her  skill.  He  thought  it  mere  acting,  and  assured 
himself  he  had  never  seen  her  do  anything  better  on  .the 
stage.  He  would  not  have  been  so  well  pleased  could  he 
have  known  that  her  naturalness  of  manner  was  due,  in  part, 
to  the  fact  that  she  was  touched.  She  felt  that  there  was 
safety — even  from  him — with  this  gentle,  loving  old  man. 
Old  age  was  not  hideous  in  him  ;  she  found  something 
beautiful  in  it. 

Judith  Cheston,  for  so  we  must  now  call  the  actress, 
glanced  about  her  with  a  keen  sense  of  pleasure.  What  a 
quaint,  peaceful  spot  her  new  home  was  1  With  its  spacious 


i68  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

lawn,  shaded  by  great  oaks,  its  old-fashioned  garden,  from 
which  was  wafted  the  perfume  of  lilacs  through  the  open 
doors  of  the  odd,  hip-roofed  house ;  its  perfect  serenity  and 
quiet,  it  seemed  to  her  a  delightful  refuge.  The  ivy-covered 
little  church,  nestled  in  a  clump  of  the  largest  oaks,  com 
pleted  a  picture  which  appealed  not  only  to  her  taste  but  to 
a  latent  sensibility  which  had  never  before  been  stirred. 
She  felt  that  she  might  be  happy  here.  Happy  !  Had  she 
ever  been  happy  ?  Years  ago,  perhaps,  when  still  a  careless 
child.  But  since  she  had  been  able  to  reason,  to  observe  ? 
Well,  she  had  certainly  enjoyed  life.  There  had  always 
been  excitement,  variety,  the  gratification  of  almost  every 
whim,  but  there  was  something  she  had  missed,  she  knew 
not  what.  Perhaps,  she  would  find  it  here. 

The  Rector  took  her  face  between  his  hands  and  studied 
it  with  rapt  attention. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  last,  "  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it ; 
you  are  marvellously  like  your  mother,  my  child." 

Edgar  started.  Was  the  old  fool  mad  ?  And  yet,  as  he 
glanced  at  the  actress,  he  saw  that  there  was  a  resemblance. 
She  had  the  same  blue  eyes,  soft  and  winning ;  the  same 
fleecy,  golden  hair ;  the  same  delicate  colouring,  with  features 
even  more  regular,  more  finely  cut  than  his  wife's  as  he  re 
membered  her.  What  a  lucky  resemblance  for  him !  If  the 
Rector  ever  heard  anything  to  excite  his  doubts,  he  would 
instantly  put  them  away  at  sight  of  her  face. 

Mr.  Magruder  forced  himself  to  ask  Edgar  to  stay  with 
him,  but  the  latter  declined. 

"I  must  push  on  to  the  Manor,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  have 
to  start  for  Washington  to-morrow.  Of  course,"  he  added, 
with  a  covert  sneer,  "  I  couldn't  go  away  without  seeing 
the  family ;  Mother  and  Bob  would  never  forgive  me." 

He  shook  hands  with  the  Rector  and  Mrs.  Tippett, 
kissed  his  supposititious  daughter  affectionately,  and  jump- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  169 

ing  into  the  carriage,  bade  the  driver  take  the  road  for  the 
Manor. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  rolled  away, 
"  Ethel  has  hooked  him  fast  enough.  What  a  clever  girl 
she  is  !  And  to  think  she  should  actually  resemble  the 
parson's  daughter.  I  call  that  a  genuine  stroke  of  luck. 
And  now  for  my  dear  brother  and  his  wife.  Their  day  of 
reckoning  has  come  1  " 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN  the  carriage  reached  the  Manor  gate,  Edgar  bade 
the  driver  pause,  so  that  he  might  look  about  him.  His 
keen  eyes  travelled  eagerly  over  the  fields  which  stretched 
in  slight  undulations  on  each  side  of  the  avenue  of  elms 
towards  the  house.  On  every  hand,  he  noted  evidences  of 
mismanagement  or  neglect.  The  growing  wheat  was  thin, 
the  grass  and  clover  choked  with  weeds ;  the  ditches,  in 
some  places,  scarcely  distinguishable ;  the  fences  overgrown 
with  briars.  His  face  lit  up  suddenly  with  fierce  satisfac 
tion.  "  The  place  is  going  to  the  dogs,"  he  muttered, 
"  what  a  botch  Bob  has  made  of  things  !  " 

It  was  pleasant  for  him  to  fancy  it  might  have  been  very 
different  had  he  been  the  master,  as  it  was  intended  he 
should  be.  At  least,  he  wouldn't  have  brought  the  Manor 
to  this.  If  he  knew  nothing  else,  he  knew  how  to  farm. 
"  If  Father  could  see  it,"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  he  would 
curse  his  folly  in  preferring  Bob  to  me  I  " 

The  thought  was  intensely  gratifying.  In  the  Colonel's 
evident  incompetence,  he  found  a  kind  of  justification  of 
himself.  He  laughed  softly,  with  sardonic  humour,  as  he  re 
flected  that,  had  he  remained  at  the  Manor,  he  might  have 
proved  a  safer  guardian  of  the  property  and  the  family  dig 
nity — he  the  spendthrift,  the  good-for-nothing,  the  danger 
ous  rascal,  who  had  been  driven  forth  in  disgrace.  Even 
yet,  it  was  not  too  late.  If,  with  Ethel  Vane's  aid,  he  se 
cured  control  of  the  Magruder  fortune,  he  might  be  enabled 
to  settle  down  here  and  become  a  virtuous  member  of  soci 
ety.  There  would  no  longer  be  any  reason  to  lie  or  to 
cheat,  and  by  taking  on  the  garb  of  reform,  he  might  succeed 

170 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  171 

in  hoodwinking  the  community  into  the  belief  that  he  was  a 
changed  man,  and  thus  attain  to  influence  and  power.  It 
was  a  rather  inconvenient  ambition  for  a  man  of  his  tastes, 
yet  feasible  enough,  if  he  could  but  curb  his  cursed  inclina 
tions.  "  It'll  be  deuced  hard  work,"  he  said  to  himself, 
peevishly.  He  was  beginning  already  to  regret  the  occupa 
tions,  the  amusements,  the  stirring  games  of  chance,  he  had 
found  so  exhilarating  in  the  life  of  cities.  The  quiet  of  the 
country,  the  tame  innocuousness  of  the  daily  routine,  would 
be  insufferably  dull.  But  there  was  mischief  to  be  done. 
It  was  in  his  power  to  throw  the  family  into  confusion,  to 
lay  violent  hands  on  its  household  gods,  to  cast  out  his 
brother,  to  impress  the  community,  by  quickly  restoring  the 
Manor  to  its  former  prosperity,  with  a  conviction  of  his  en 
ergy  and  force.  After  he  had  done  all  this,  there  might  be 
other  employment  quite  as  interesting.  It  was  at  least  worth 
while  to  wait  and  see.  In  the  meantime,  he  need  not  lack 
excitement.  He  would  be  hunting  the  biggest  game  he  had 
ever  stalked ;  the  stake  was  larger  than  any  he  had  ever 
played  for  at  poker. 

Reassured,  he  gave  the  order  to  drive  on.  As  he  neared 
the  house,  he  found  that  it,  too,  had  shared  the  general  neg 
lect.  The  doors  and  shutters  were  almost  bare  of  paint ; 
the  roof,  thickly-coated  with  moss,  showed  patches  of 
broken  shingles  ;  the  verandah  floor  had  rotted  away  in  sev 
eral  places.  "  Bob  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself,"  he  ex 
claimed,  amused  at  feeling  a  kind  of  virtuous  indignation ; 
"  I  must  set  the  carpenters  at  work  immediately." 

Pompey,  the  Colonel's  body  servant,  met  him  at  the  door. 
When  Edgar  told  him  his  name,  Pompey,  who  was  a  fat, 
unctuous  old  negro,  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  and  executed 
a  series  of  flourishing  bows  in  his  most  grandiose  style. 

"  Sobbun  Marster !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  shuffling  side 
ways,  he  ushered  Edgar  into  the  parlour,  Edgar  selected 


i/2  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

the  most  inviting  chair,  and  having  seated  himself,  looked 
about  him  with  a  growing  sense  of  familiarity.  Everything 
was  worn  and  faded,  but  otherwise,  just  the  same  as  when 
he  had  last  seen  it,  more  than  twenty  years  before.  A  host 
of  memories  crowded  swiftly  upon  him.  They  were  soft 
memories,  some  of  them — there  had  been  a  time  when  he 
had  not  been  insensible  to  gentler  impressions — and  they 
must  have  touched  a  nature  less  obdurate.  But  to  Edgar, 
they  were  almost  invisible  threads  in  a  web  of  selfish  impul 
ses,  of  fierce  desires.  Seated  here,  amid  these  well-known 
surroundings,  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  had  been  sud 
denly  restored  to  a  place  he  had  but  just  quitted ;  the  years 
that  had  fled  dwindled  almost  into  nothingness  ;  he  was  be 
ginning  all  over  again,  and  this  time,  with  loaded  dice.  The 
desire  to  snatch  the  prize  from  his  brother's  grasp  grew  hot 
and  eager  within  him. 

The  Colonel  entered  smiling,  with  outstretched  hands. 

"  Ah,  Edgar,"  he  exclaimed  warmly,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you !  Mr.  Magruder  was  here  yesterday,  and  told  us  the 
welcome  news  of  your  expected  arrival.  We  had  given  you 
up  long  ago.  Your  daughter  is  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Edgar,  rising  to  meet  him,  "  I  left  her  at  the 
Rectory." 

He  was  annoyed  to  find  "  Bob  "  so  young.  Instead  of  a 
man  weighed  down  by  misfortune,  he  seemed  to  be  bubbling 
over  with  happiness  and  good  humour.  It  was  the  easy, 
careless  life  he  had  led,  that  had  held  age  in  check  and 
caused  the  burden  of  debt  to  sit  so  lightly  upon  him.  It 
might  have  been  the  same  with  him  had  he  not  been  cheated 
of  the  Manor.  The  thought  added  new  fuel  to  his  rancour. 

The  Colonel  was  wholly  sincere  in  his  greeting.  It  was 
easy  for  him  to  forget  the  dark  side  of  Edgar's  character, 
and  to  see  in  him  once  more  the  brilliant,  dominating  elder 
brother  whom  he  had  admired  and  imitated  as  a  boy.  In 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  173 

his  sanguine  way,  he  imagined  that  age  must  necessarily 
have  tempered  and  improved  him.  His  long,  stubborn 
silence,  the  indifference  it  indicated  towards  his  mother, 
could  probably  be  explained.  For  the  Colonel,  his  return 
was  a  reknitting  of  old  ties.  There  was  genuine  joy  in  his 
heart — a  joy  that  was  not  affected  in  the  least  by  the  fact 
that  he  owed  Edgar  money.  He  would  rather  owe  it  to  him 
than  to  anybody  else.  Was  he  not  his  brother?  And 
Edgar's  daughter  would  soon  come  into  possession  of  a 
fortune  which  she  would  doubtless  share  with  her  father. 
Of  course,  Edgar  wouldn't  "  press  "  him  for  so  paltry  a  sum. 

"  Mother  will  be  down  soon,"  he  said,  "  she  was  taking  a 
nap.  Flora,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  in  bed  with  one  of  her 
nervous  attacks.  Her  health  is  very  poor.  My  boy,  Turlo, 
is  off  hunting  somewhere ;  I've  sent  for  Lydia,  who  is  out  in 
the  garden.  And  now,  tell  me  about  yourself — what  have 
you  been  doing  all  this  time  ? " 

"  Not  much  of  anything,"  said  Edgar  curtly — he  did  not 
wish  to  be  questioned  about  his  adventures — "  I've  been 
wandering  about  ever  since  I  left  the  Manor,  and  have  had 
all  sorts  of  ups  and  downs." 

"  You're  in  need  of  money?"  asked  the  Colonel,  sym 
pathetically.  He  was  thinking  if  he  were,  he  would  borrow 
some  from  Reeve  for  him ;  Reeve  was  always  ready  to  lend 
him. 

"  No,"  said  Edgar,  adding  bluntly,  "  are  you  ?  " 

"Always,  more  or  less,"  answered  the  Colonel  noncha 
lantly,  with  a  laugh ;  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  never 
seem  to  have  enough.  By  the  way,  I  owe  you  quite  a  sum." 

"  Yes,  Reeve  told  me." 

The  Colonel  imagined  he  had  met  the  lawyer  in  the  county 
town ;  he  was  ignorant  of  the  meeting  in  New  York ;  Reeve 
had  not  seen  fit  to  communicate  the  fact  to  him. 

"  He  explained  to  you  that  when  your  property  was  sold, 


1/4  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

there  was  a  balance  ?  I  held  it  for  you  for  years,  and  then, 
having  use  for  it,  I  borrowed  it,  with  the  consent  of  Mother 
and  the  girls.  With  the  interest,  it  amounts  to  about  twenty 
thousand  dollars.  If  you  want  it  at  once,  no  doubt  I  can 
raise  it  for  you." 

"  Don't  bother  yourself,"  said  Edgar  easily,  "  I'm  in  no 
hurry.  In  fact,  I'd  prefer  you'd  let  the  matter  rest,  and 
merely  pay  me  the  interest.  It's  as  well  invested  with  you 
as  anywhere  else.  The  Manor  has  no  other  incumbrances, 
has  it  ? " 

The  Colonel  shifted  nervously  in  his  seat.  The  question 
was  embarrassing.  He  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  confessing 
to  the  brother  to  whom  he  had  been  preferred  that  he  had 
mortgaged  the  Manor.  But  of  course,  he  would  under 
stand. 

"  Yes,  it  has,"  he  replied,  a  trifle  awkwardly,  "  I've  had  to 
borrow  rather  heavily  from  Reeve — failures  of  crops,  im 
provements,  security  money.  In  one  way  or  another,  I've 
had  rather  poor  luck." 

"  And  Reeve  holds  mortgages  ? " 

"  Yes." 

Edgar  knew  better  than  the  Colonel,  whose  recollection  of 
his  various  borrowings  was  rather  vague,  the  total  amount  of 
the  mortgages.  He  had,  in  fact,  a  statement  obtained  from 
the  court  records  by  the  agent  he  had  employed.  But  he 
wished  to  extract  the  information  from  his  brother  ;  it  was 
pleasant  to  cross-examine  him ;  he  fancied  he  was  making 
him  suffer.  And,  in  truth,  the  Colonel  was  far  from  being 
comfortable.  He  had  been  brought  face  to  face,  for  the 
first  time,  with  the  ugly  side  of  his  indebtedness,  and  he  had 
a  dim  idea  it  was  larger  than  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
thinking.  He  had  not  expected  that  Edgar  would  be  so 
inquisitive.  He  began  to  fear  he  might  not  understand ; 
that  would  be  unpleasant, 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  175 

"  How  would  you  like  me  to  take  up  the  mortgages  ?  " 
asked  Edgar,  with  an  effort  to  seem  careless.  It  was  a 
critical  moment  for  him — the  turning-point  of  his  brother's 
fate.  If  he  accepted,  he  would  be  in  his  power ;  if  he  re 
fused,  he  might  escape  him.  "  My  daughter,  Judith,  will  soon 
have  some  money  to  invest — I  might  place  it  here.  You'd 
rather  have  her  for  a  creditor,  I  fancy,  than  Reeve  or  any 
stranger.  Whatever  happened,  then,  the  Manor  would  re 
main  in  the  family." 

Remain  in  the  family  !  The  Colonel  started  as  if  he  had 
been  stung.  Had  it  come  to  that  ?  Of  course  not.  The 
Manor  was  good  for  twice  the  amount.  But  it  was  very 
considerate  of  Edgar.  It  was  the  kind  of  offer  a  brother 
should  make.  He  would  have  done  the  same  thing  had 
their  positions  been  reversed,  but  he  would  hardly  have  ex 
pected  it  of  Edgar. 

"  That's  a  good  suggestion,"  he  said  gratefully,  "  es 
pecially  if  your  girl  and  my  boy  should  happen  to  take  a 
fancy  to  each  other.  However,  it's  a  safe  investment  for  her, 
in  any  event.  With  a  little  better  luck,  I  ought  to  be  able 
to  pull  out  in  a  very  few  years.  You'll  help  me  to  manage 
the  estate,  will  you  not  ?  You  were  bred  a  farmer,  and  I  was 
not,  and  I'm  sure  you'd  soon  find  out  what's  wrong.  I've  done 
my  best,  but  somehow,  I  seem  to  be  always  going  backward." 

"  The  place  doesn't  look  very  flourishing,"  remarked 
Edgar,  dryly. 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  assented  the  Colonel,  with  a  sigh.  Then, 
brightening,  he  added  cheerily, 

"  But  we'll  change  all  that.  Can't  you  make  your  home 
with  us  ?  The  Rectory  isn't  far  away,  and  you  could  see 
your  daughter  every  day.  I'd  like  to  have  the  benefit  of  your 
presence  here." 

Edgar  glanced  at  him  doubtfully.  Could  he  be  in  ear- 
est  ?  If  he  were,  what  a  fool !  He  was  playing  right  into  his 


176  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

hands.  All  he  needed  was  a  footing  at  the  Manor ;  once 
there,  he  would  soon  be  its  master,  without  having  to  wait 
until  he  could  force  its  sale.  But  perhaps,  Bob  wasn't  such 
a  fool  as  he  seemed.  There  might  be  cunning  in  his  offer. 
Edgar  naturally  inclined  to  this  view.  He  had  no  faith  in 
his  brother's  honesty,  or  indeed  in  any  man's,  and  was  al 
ways  on  the  alert  to  detect  some  hidden  motive.  Did  Bob 
hope  to  use  him,  to  fatten  on  him,  to  make  him  the  pay 
master  of  his  extravagance  and  inefficiency  ?  He  smiled 
grimly  at  the  thought.  It  mattered  little  whether  he  were 
fool  or  knave.  Either  way,  he  would  beat  him.  He  thought 
it  more  prudent,  for  the  present,  to  temporise. 

"I  can't  say  just  yet,"  he  replied, with  an  air  of  indecision. 
"  I  hardly  know  where  I  shall  conclude  to  live.  I  have  to 
take  a  trip  to  Washington,  and  must  start  to-morrow.  After 
my  return,  I  may  be  able  to  tell  you  whether  I  can  accept 
your  offer.  But  so  far  as  the  mortgages  are  concerned,  you 
need  give  yourself  no  further  anxiety ;  we'll  arrange  it  with 
Reeve,  as  soon  as  Judith's  affairs  are  settled.  In  the  mean 
time,  it  would  be  better  if  you  said  nothing  to  him ;  he 
might  not  wish  to  relax  his  grip  on  the  property,  and  per 
haps,  would  give  us  trouble." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Colonel, promptly.  He  did  not  share 
Edgar's  apprehension  in  the  least — the  idea  of  Reeve  pre 
suming  to  give  trouble !  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  never 
liked  him  ;  his  manners  were  very  objectionable.  It  would 
be  a  relief  to  get  rid  of  him. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  Pompey  with  the 
announcement  that  the  family  doctor,  who  had  just  paid  a 
visit  to  the  younger  Mrs.  Cheston,  wished  to  see  the  Colonel 
in  the  library. 

The  Colonel  rose,  with  an  anxious  look,  and  begged  Edgar 
to  excuse  him.  "  Mother  will  be  with  you,  presently,"  he 
added,  "  I'll  return  as  soon  as  I  can." 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  177 

The  door  had  scarcely  closed  behind  him  when  a  heavy 
curtain  that  divided  the  long  parlour  into  two  rooms  was 
thrust  aside,  and  his  wife  entered.  She  had  been  a  hidden 
auditor  of  nearly  the;  whole  conversation,  and  she  now  came 
forward,  white  and  trembling. 

Edgar  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment.  Who  was  she? 
Some  crack-brained  guest  of  the  family  ?  Her  anxious  face 
and  wild,  dark  eyes  strengthened  the  impression  made  by 
her  strange,  furtive  entrance.  He  had  no  suspicion  of  her 
identity.  What  trace  was  there  in  this  emaciated,  gray- 
haired  woman  of  the  vivacious,  beautiful  girl  who  had  once 
seemed  to  him  so  captivating  ? 

"  You  don't  know  me,  Edgar  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  pitiful 
tone,  stopping  short. 

"  Flora ! "  he  cried,  aghast.  Her  voice  recalled  her  to 
him  ;  it  was  the  one  thing  of  her  former  self  that  remained. 

She  stood  before  him,  with  downcast  head,  like  a  prisoner 
awaiting  sentence.  There  was  a  heavy  reckoning  between 
them.  He  had  wronged  her  foully,  but  she  had  inflicted  a 
savage  blow  in  return.  It  was  she  who,  knowing  of  his 
secret  embarrassments,  had  revealed  them  to  his  father,  and 
had  thus  set  on  foot  an  investigation  that  had  resulted  in 
the  discovery  that  he  was  utterly  profligate.  The  loss  of 
the  Manor,  the  misfortunes  that  had  followed,  were  all  due 
to  her.  And  she  knew  that  he  had  discovered  the  fact,  for 
he  had  written  her,  shortly  after  his  departure,  and  again 
after  his  wife's  death,  telling  her  he  had  her  to  thank,  and 
some  day  would  endeavour  to  repay  her.  He  was  here,  no 
doubt,  to  exact  reparation.  The  blow  she  had  so  long 
dreaded  was  about  to  fall.  But  how  ?  What  form  of  tor 
ture  would  his  vengeance  take  ?  Quivering  in  every  nerve, 
she  nevertheless  longed  to  know  the  worst.  It  was  the 
suspense  that  was  hardest  to  bear.  Informed  by  Phyllis  of 
Edgar's  arrival,  she  had  risen  from  bed  and  stolen  down- 

12 


i;8  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

stairs  to  watch  for  an  opportunity  of  seeing  him  alone.  She 
waited  in  an  agony  of  fear  less  they  should  be  surprised 
before  she  had  heard  what  he  had  to  say.  She  little  dreamed 
there  was  a  witness  of  their  interview.  Phyllis  had  followed 
her  like  a  shadow,  and  was  now  crouching  behind  the  por 
tiere,  her  sullen  face  alive  with  fierce  curiosity,  her  black 
eyes  glowing  with  baleful  fire.  The  woman  she  hated,  the 
man  she  had  worshipped  were  face  to  face  at  last,  and  she 
was  there,  to  hear  them. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Edgar,  recovering  himself  quickly 
and  handing  her  a  chair  with  his  suavest  bow.  "  We  have 
both  changed  with  the  flight  of  years." 

She  did  not  sit  down,  but  stood  leaning  against  the  back 
of  the  chair,  weak  and  faint. 

"  Time  has  not  dealt  gently  with  me,"  she  said. 

"  Nor  with  me."  His  tone  was  still  pleasant,  but  his  eyes 
flashed  dangerously  as  he  added,  "  On  the  other  hand,  it  has 
been  wonderfully  lenient  with  Bob ;  his  lines  have  evidently 
been  cast  in  pleasant  places," 

"  You  will  not  hurt  him  1  "  she  exclaimed.  Clasping  her 
hands  in  entreaty,  she  added,  "  Oh  Edgar,  whatever  you  may 
have  against  me,  he  is  innocent !  He  would  have  scorned  to 
take  the  least  advantage  of  you.  He  would  even  have  de 
fended  you  to  your  father  against  his  own  interests,  had  he 
known.  Do  with  me  what  you  like,  but  spare  him  1  " 

A  faint  smile  curled  Edgar's  lips.  Did  she  expect  him  to 
believe  this  ?  Yes,  it  seemed  so,  in  spite  of  all  that  had  hap 
pened.  Apparently,  she  and  her  husband  were  working  in 
concert  to  "  pluck  "  him.  His  brother,  then,  was  more  knave 
than  fool,  and  had  an  enterprising  ally  in  his  wife.  But 
she  must  not  suspect  that  he  saw  through  her  game ;  it  was 
not  yet  time  for  him  to  show  his  hand. 

"  My  dear  Flora,"  he  said,  with  affected  surprise,  "  how 
strangely  you  talk  1  Hurt  Bob  ?  Why  should  I  hurt  him  ? 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  179 

Possibly,  you  overheard  us  just  now.  You  did  ?  Well,  you 
know  that  I  mean  to  help  him.  Could  I  have  made  him 
a  more  brotherly  offer  ?  I  propose  to  forego  my  claim — 
at  least,  for  the  present — to  take  up  the  mortgages,  to  make 
things  easy  for  him,  and  yet,  you  ask  me  not  to  hurt  him !  " 

Mrs.  Cheston  was  not  reassured  ;  on  the  contrary,  her  terror 
grew.  His  honeyed  phrases  did  not  deceive  her.  To  her 
keen  intuition,  they  meant  only  that  he  wished  to  keep  her 
in  the  dark.  He  was  veiling  some  purpose  she  could  not 
fathom.  Her  suspense,  instead  of  being  ended,  was  to  be 
prolonged. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  stammered,  feeling  that  she  must 
affect  to  believe  him,  "  I — I — feared  you  might  hold  Robert 
as  well  as  myself  responsible  for — for  all  that  has  happened. 
I  wished  to  convince  you  that  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  it — 
nothing.  As  for  me,  whatever  I  have  done,  I  have  been 
punished  for  it  already.  Can  you  not  see  how  I  must  have 
suffered  ? " 

"  Why  trouble  yourself  with  such  fancies,  dear  Flora  ?  " 
asked  Edgar,  indulgently.  "  You  will  fret  yourself  into  a 
fever  about  nothing.  I  assure  you  I  have  only  the  kindest 
feeling  towards  you." 

The  unhappy  woman  shivered.  How  could  he  have  the 
hardihood  to  lie  to  her  in  this  way  ?  She  knew  the  hatred 
that  must  be  lurking  under  his  words.  He  was  torturing 
her  far  more  by  his  affectation  of  friendliness  than  if  he  had 
openly  vented  his  wrath  upon  her,  and  doubtless,  he  knew 
it. 

Footsteps  sounded  in  the  hall.  With  a  look  of  alarm,  she 
turned  to  leave  him.  "  Don't  speak  to  anyone  of  having  seen 
me,"  she  murmured  hastily,  "  they  think  I  am  ill  in  bed." 

She  groped  her  way  blindly  toward  the  portiere,  and 
Edgar  sprang  forward  to  raise  it.  As  he  did  so,  he  just 
grazed  Phyllis,  who,  unable  to  escape  in  time,  was  hiding  at 


i8o  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

one  side,  in  terror  of  detection.  Fortunately  for  her,  he 
lifted  the  other  half  of  the  curtain.  Mrs.  Cheston  hurried  on, 
without  looking  round,  and  made  her  escape  just  as  Ole  Miss 
entered  the  next  room.  Phyllis  stole  noiselessly  after  her. 

Edgar  dropped  the  curtain  and  turned  to  meet  his  mother. 

"  That  was  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  for  her,"  he  said  to 
himself,  with  a  chuckle. 

It  gave  him  keen  pleasure  to  wring  the  heart  of  this 
woman  whom  he  had  once  loved,  after  his  fashion.  But 
for  her,  he  might  have  been  in  his  rightful  place — the  place 
his  brother  had  filched  from  him — during  all  the  time  he 
had  been  a  homeless  wanderer.  But  for  her,  he  might  have 
grown  old  easily  and  slowly.  But  for  her,  he  need  never 
have  become  the  adventurer,  the  blackleg,  the  petty  rascal 
he  knew  himself  to  be.  And  now,  he  had  her  in  his  power. 
She  was  weak  and  prematurely  old  and  wretched.  So  much 
the  better.  He  might  have  feared  her  had  she  remained 
the  bright,  daring  creature  who  had  outwitted  him  once. 
Her  spirit  was  broken  ;  he  could  do  with  her  whatever  he 
wished. 

Edgar  sat  up  until  late  in  the  night  regaling  the  family  as 
sembled  in  the  hall  with  the  recital  of  his  adventures.  He 
was  a  practised  story-teller,  and  held  his  audience  engrossed 
with  his  vivid  descriptions  of  life  on  the  plains.  His 
mother  hung  upon  his  words  with  love  beaming  in  her  eyes. 
Edgar  had  been  her  spoiled  darling,  and  not  even  his  long 
years  of  silence — a  silence  she  had  found  it  hard,  at  first,  to 
forgive — had  extinguished  the  old  fondness  in  her  heart. 
He  was  the  prodigal  come  back  again,  repentant  and  re 
formed.  She  put  the  fullest  faith  in  his  professions,  and  re 
joiced,  with  all  her  soul,  that  he  had  come  in  time  to  rescue 
his  brother,  to  save  the  Manor.  More  clear-sighted  than 
the  Colonel,  she  had  long  been  anxious  about  the  state  of 
his  affairs,  and  had  felt  that  a  stronger  hand  than  his  was 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  181 

needed.  Edgar  seemed  strong.  At  first,  she  had  been  con 
scious  of  a  hardness  in  him  which  had  grieved  her,  but  this 
impression  gradually  yielded  to  the  conviction  that  his 
character  had  merely  developed  on  firmer  lines.  The  rash 
impetuosity  of  his  youth  had  been  converted  into  the  sober 
but  strongly  impelling  force  of  middle  age.  His  forms  of 
expression,  at  times,  were  curt  and  even  rough,  but  that 
was  to  be  expected  of  one  who  had  had  to  fight  many  hard 
battles  for  existence  in  a  wild,  lawless  land.  His  energy, 
however  rude  it  might  be,  was  precisely  what  was  required 
at  the  Manor.  It  supplied  the  elements  lacking  in  Robert. 
He  had  doubtless  learned  much,  especially  the  value  of 
money.  Everything  was  turning  out  for  the  best,  after  all. 
Perhaps,  had  Edgar  remained  at  home,  he  would  not  have 
acquired  the  qualities  she  now  admired  in  him.  He  had 
been  indolent  and  dissipated  and  careless  ;  the  easy  life  at 
the  Manor  might  have  confirmed  him  in  habits  of  self- 
indulgence.  The  hardships  he  had  suffered  had  cured  all 
that  and  made  a  man  of  him. 

The  Colonel's  wife  was  missing  from  the  family  group 
surrounding  Edgar.  She  was  near  at  hand,  however,  though 
unseen.  Kneeling  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  her  thin  hands 
clutching  the  banisters,  she  listened  eagerly  to  every  word 
he  uttered.  The  exclamations  of  interest  or  amusement 
from  one  or  the  other  of  his  hearers,  from  time  to  time, 
wounded  her  cruelly.  "  They  believe  him,"  she  murmured 
to  herself,  trembling  with  fear  and  pain.  "  He  has  won  the 
confidence  of  every  one  of  them.  And  he  means  to  bring 
misery  upon  them  all — even  his  old  mother.  Yes,  I  know 
it.  Oh,  why  did  I  ever  cross  him  ?  Why  did  I  yield  to  my 
mad  thirst  for  revenge  ?  I  had  my  revenge,  and  he  means 
to  have  his,  now.  I  can  do  nothing  to  avert  it — nothing !  " 


EDGAR  did  not  wait  to  note  the  effect  of  the  actress's  first 
appearance  at  the  Manor.  He  had  but  little  anxiety  on  that 
score.  She  had  conducted  herself  so  cleverly  at  the  Rectory 
that  he  was  confident  she  would  not  fail  to  make  a  favourable 
impression.  He  had  cautioned  her  as  to  certain  points,  and 
she  never  needed  to  be  told  a  thing  twice.  He  departed 
without  any  misgivings,  and  was  well  on  his  way  towards 
Washington  when  Judith  and  the  Rector  made  their  first 
visit. 

It  was  the  morning  after  her  arrival.  The  Rector  was  so 
proud  of  her  that  he  wished  her  father's  family  to  see  her 
without  delay.  Immediately  after  breakfast,  they  set  out  in 
his  old,  yellow-bodied  gig  drawn  by  a  sleepy,  fat  gray  horse. 
Mrs.  Tippett,  prompted  by  curiosity,  had  tried  to  persuade 
him  it  was  her  "  place  "  to  introduce  her  great-niece,  but 
the  Rector  showed  unaccustomed  obstinacy,  and  almost 
irritably  refused  to  yield.  Mrs.  Tippett  retired  at  last  with 
rather  bad  grace.  His  conduct  was  unpleasantly  signifi 
cant.  It  marked,  to  her  mind,  the  beginning  of  the  end  of 
her  petty  despotism. 

Judith's  welcome  was  all  that  she  or  the  Rector,  even, 
could  have  wished.  The  Colonel  came  out  to  the  carriage 
to  greet  her,  and  Ole  Miss  and  Lydia  were  waiting  in  the 
parlour  to  receive  her.  Even  the  Colonel's  wife,  though  ex 
hausted  by  the  suffering  she  had  undergone  throughout  the 
night,  insisted  on  being  helped  downstairs  by  Phyllis. 
She  was  impelled  by  an  anxious  desire  to  learn  what  manner 
of  girl  Judith  was,  and  whether  she  was  likely  to  befriend 
her.  Surely  if  anyone  could  influence  Edgar,  it  would  be 

182 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  183 

his  daughter.  If  she  could  but  win  her  sympathy !  She 
did  not  hope  for  much,  but  some  softening  of  Edgar's  pur 
pose,  at  least,  might  be  gained  from  her  intercession. 

Judith's  beauty  and  grace  instantly  captivated  the  impres 
sionable  Colonel.  Ole  Miss  was  not  so  easily  subdued.  To 
Judith,  she  seemed  at  first  a  severe  old  lady,  and  the  self- 
conscious  girl  was  almost  afraid  to  meet  her  scrutinising 
gaze.  But  after  a  rather  formal  greeting,  which  had  enabled 
her  to  take  her  in  from  head  to  foot,  Ole  Miss  thawed 
quickly,  and  bending  over,  kissed  her.  She  had  satisfied 
herself  that  she  was  worthy  of  bearing  the  family  name. 
Lydia  took  one  of  Judith's  hands  and  pressed  it  rather 
timidly.  She  was  too  shy  to  offer  to  kiss  her.  The  tall, 
beautiful  creature  impressed  her  with  a  sense  of  aloofness. 
She  was  unlike  most  of  the  girls  she  had  known.  There 
was  an  air  of  distinction  about  her,  of  confident  ease,  of 
familiarity  with  the  great  world,  showing  itself  in  slight, 
subtle  hints,  that  made  Lydia  feel  inferior.  She  feared  she 
might  commit  some  blunder  that  would  expose  her  rusticity. 
Though  longing  to  "  make  friends  "  at  once,  she  shrank  from 
seeming  to  presume  upon  their  relationship.  Her  unwonted 
humility  had  in  it  a  spice  of  pride ;  she  did  not  fancy  the 
idea  of  being  rebuffed.  Her  embarrassment  was  increased 
by  a  side  remark  of  Uncle  Josias.  "  She  knows  how  to  be 
have,"  he  whispered  to  her,  maliciously.  "  Someone  has 
taught  her  manners."  Miss  Twiggs,  too,  seemed  lost  in  ad 
miration.  It  was  evident  everybody  felt  as  she  did.  There 
was  a  throb  of  jealous  pain  in  Lydia's  heart.  All  at  once, 
she  had  been  deposed  and  made  insignificant.  Her  star 
had  paled  before  that  of  this  beautiful  cousin. 

The  Colonel's  wife  came  in  after  the  others.  Judith,  who 
had  been  informed  by  Edgar  of  their  former  relations  and 
present  attitude  towards  each  other,  felt  a  peculiar  sense  of 
interest  as  she  met  the  gaze  of  those  pleading  eyes.  Inter- 


184  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

preting  his  story  in  the  light  of  her  new  knowledge  of  him, 
she  read  a  dark  tragedy  in  them.  She  did  not  doubt  that 
this  frail,  broken  woman  had  suffered  cruelly  at  his  hands. 
She,  too,  had  been  deceived  and  played  with — perhaps  more 
wantonly  than  even  she  had  been.  She  was  moved  by  a 
strong  sense  of  kinship  in  their  common  experience— a 
touch  of  genuine  pity. 

Mrs.  Cheston  read  the  pity  in  her  face,  and  felt  a  faint 
glow  of  hope.  She  would  do  her  best  to  make  a  friend  of 
this  girl. 

The  warmth  and  evident  sincerity  of  her  reception  made 
it  unnecessary  for  Judith  to  play  a  part.  Ail  she  had  to  do 
was  to  accept  things  as  they  were  and  to  be  herself — a 
lady-like  young  woman,  with  the  finish  of  manner  which 
Edgar  had  been  at  so  much  pains  to  secure.  In  any  fashion 
able  drawing-room,  she  would  have  been  pronounced  what, 
nowadays,  is  called  "good  form."  At  the  Manor,  she  ex 
cited  a  friendly  curiosity.  She  was  a  specimen  of  the 
society  of  cities  which  was  more  or  less  unfamiliar  to  so 
secluded  a  household.  No  doubt,  she  could  tell  them  of 
fashions,  of  customs,  of  social  observances  which,  as  yet, 
had  not  penetrated  to  their  neighbourhood.  She  was,  for 
them,  an  interesting  object  of  study,  if  not  of  imitation.  On 
the  other  hand,  they  accepted  her  unquestioningly  as  one  of 
themselves.  With  a  grateful  sense  of  relief,  she  fell  at 
once  into  the  place  thus  offered  her  as  a  member  of  the 
family.  She  no  longer  felt  any  anxiety,  and  was  thoroughly 
confident  of  herself.  Her  future  seemed  secure. 

The  feeling  of  security  was  but  brief.  Lydia  asked  her, 
rather  doubtfully,  if  she  wouldn't  like  to  see  the  garden,  and 
leaving  the  older  people,  they  strolled  for  an  hour  or  more 
along  the  winding  paths  or  over  the  broad  stretches  of 
velvety  turf.  Suddenly,  Lydia  pulled  from  her  belt  an  old- 
fashioned  watch,  and  glancing  at  it,  exclaimed : 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  185 

"  It  is  time  to  give  Mamma  her  medicine  ;  I  had  nearly 
forgotten.  Will  you  excuse  me  ?  I'll  be  back  in  a  few 
moments." 

Judith  assented,  preferring  to  linger  in  the  garden,  and  as 
Lydia  hurried  away,  she  turned  into  a  gravelled  path  that 
ended  at  a  clump  of  oaks  where  she  saw  a  seat.  She  had 
taken  but  a  few  steps  when  a  tall  figure,  rounding  a  large 
box  tree  from  a  by-path,  nearly  collided  with  her.  It  was 
Turlo  Cheston,  coming  from  the  stable  where  he  had  just 
left  his  horse  after  his  customary  morning  gallop  with  the 
hounds. 

"  Miss  Vane !  "  he  cried,  his  handsome,  boyish  face  light 
ing  up.  "  Is  it  possible — you  here  1  " 

Miss  Vane !  The  name  sounded  almost  strange  to  her. 
She  had  already  identified  herself  so  closely  with  her  new 
life,  that  her  career  on  the  stage  was  beginning  to  seem  like 
a  dream.  Who  was  this  intruder  from  that  other  world  who 
had  recalled  to  her  so  unexpectedly  what  she  wished  to  for 
get  ?  She  glanced  at  him,  striving  to  place  him.  She  could 
not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  this  dark,  eager  face,  with 
brilliant  black  eyes,  ruddy  cheeks,  a  passionate  mouth.  He 
was  a  striking-looking  young  fellow ;  surely,  if  she  had  ever 
met  him,  she  would  not  have  forgotten  him.  But  then,  she 
had  met  so  many  young  men. 

She  suspected  at  once  that  he  was  another  "  cousin,"  the 
brother  of  whom  Lydia  had  spoken. 

"  You  seem  to  know  me,"  she  said,  recovering  her  pres 
ence  of  mind  and  smiling  a  little  constrainedly,  "  but  you 
don't.  I'm  Miss  Vane  no  longer;  my  name  is  Judith 
Cheston.  And  you  ?  " 

"  Turlo  Cheston — very  much  at  your  service,"  he  said 
laughing,  with  a  low  bow. 

"We  are  cousins,  then." 

"  I  wish  I'd  known  it  when  I  was  in  New  York,"  he  ex- 


1 86  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

claimed,  a  frank  admiration  showing  itself  in  his  eyes,  "  I 
wouldn't  have  been  so  timid  when  Jasper  Ninian  took  me 
behind  the  scenes." 

She  remembered  now,  though  his  face  was  still  unfamiliar 
to  her.  Jasper  Ninian  was  a  rich  young  dandy  who  haunted 
the  wings  and  ogled  all  the  pretty  chorus  girls.  She  had 
known  him  as  one  of  the  most  profitable  of  Mr.  Darcy 
Montague's  "  friends."  One  night,  she  remembered,  he  had 
asked  leave  to  present  to  her  a  former  college  chum  from 
the  country,  and  she  had  been  amused  by  his  protege's  dif 
fidence  and  confusion  when  she  attempted  to  talk  to  him. 
This  must  be  he.  What  an  awkward  contretemps  !  To  be 
known  to  one  of  the  family  as  the  former  star  of  burlesque  1 
All  her  self-confidence  was  gone.  It  was  even  possible 
Edgar's  fraud  might  be  exposed,  and  by  one  of  those 
chances  which  they  had  fancied  were  so  remote.  But  stop 
— they  were  alone ;  no  one  else  knew  as  yet ;  there  was 
still  hope.  She  glanced  at  Turlo  again  ;  he  seemed  a  raw 
country  youth,  and  was,  probably,  unsophisticated.  It  was 
easy  to  see  that  he  admired  her ;  in  fact,  she  would  have 
taken  that  for  granted. 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes,  for  your  sake,"  he  answered  promptly. 

"  It  is  for  my  sake.  I  do  not  wish  anyone  here  to  know 
I  was  ever  on  the  stage.  Not  that  I  need  be  ashamed  of 
it ;  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  earn  a  living  somehow,  and 
that  was  the  easiest  way.  But  I  might  be  placed  in  a  try 
ing  position  ;  the  family,  I  fancy,  would  not  care  to  have  it 
said  that  one  of  their  number  had  been  an  actress." 

"  I — I'm  afraid  they  wouldn't,"  confessed  Turlo,  looking 
down  and  scraping  the  gravel  at  his  feet  in  sudden  embar 
rassment. 

"  Perhaps,  you  share  their  prejudices  ?  " 

"No,  indeed,  not  where  you  are  concerned."     He  paused. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  187 

and  added  impulsively,  "  I  never  associated  you  with  what 
Jasper,  told  me  of  the  life  of  the  stage.  When  he  spoke 
slightingly  of  you,  I  wanted  to  kick  him." 

"  You  thought  me  superior  to  my  surroundings  ? "  said 
Judith,  with  a  hollow  laugh.  He  was  even  more  unsophisti 
cated  than  she  had  hoped. 

"  Yes.  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  I  felt  the  atmosphere  was  bad  : 
when  I  saw  you  in  the  midst  of  those  men  whom  I  had  heard 
talk  at  clubs,  I  knew  the  life  wasn't  natural  to  you;  that  you 
must  shrink  from  them ;  and  I  felt  so  sorry."  He  did  not 
tell  her  he  had  longed  to  bear  her  away  from  their  insolent 
gaze  and  set  her  upon  a  pedestal  for  his  own  private  wor 
ship,  but  she  instantly  guessed  as  much.  It  was  evident  he 
had  been  smitten  by  her,  and  there  was  now  a  kind  of  joy 
ous  passion  in  his  gaze.  He  might  become  inconvenient — 
this  rash,  ardent  boy,  but  he  was  necessary  to  her,  and  she 
must  bind  him  fast.  "  Do  you  know  what  you  reminded  me 
of?"  he  continued,  growing  bolder.  "  Of  a  white  flower, 
such  as  I  have  often  seen  in  our  swamps,  which  keeps  it 
self  pure  in  the  black  mud  of  a  bog." 

"  Why,  you're  quite  a  poet !  "  she  exclaimed  with  a  laugh, 
feeling  sure  of  him  now. 

"  I'm  no  poet,"  he  said,  flushing.  "  I  say  it  only  because 
it's  true.  It  seems  wonderful  that  you  should  be  my  cousin  ; 
I  was  afraid  you  might  be  some  dull,  ugly  girl." 

"  Thanks !  "  she  said  merrily — she  was  quite  at  her  ease 
once  more — "  I'm  so  glad  you  like  me.  But  Jasper  Ninian 
— if  he  were  to  come  here " 

"  No  fear  of  that.  He  has  just  gone  abroad  to  stay  sev 
eral  months.  Besides,  I'll  take  good  care  he  doesn't  set  foot 
in  this  neighbourhood.''1 

"  You  really  are  a  kind  cousin,"  she  exclaimed,  gratefully, 
"  I  think  we're  going  to  be  very  good  friends." 

He  looked  at  her,  thinking  what  a  lucky  fellow  he  was, 


188  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

and  as  he  looked,  his  hopes  mounted  high.  It  wouldn't  be 
his  fault  if  they  remained  only  friends.  How  delightful  to 
know  she  trusted  him ;  that  he  was  the  only  one  who  knew 
her  secret !  It  was  a  bond  between  them  which  he  might 
be  able  to  knit  closer,  with  the  happiest  results. 

When  Lydia  returned,  she  found  Judith  and  Turlo  chat 
ting  freely.  Had  Turlo  been  a  trifle  less  inflamed,  he  might 
have  had  some  qualms  about  the  association  of  his  sister 
with  a  girl  of  Judith's  experiences.  But  he  saw  only  with 
the  eyes  of  love.  Judith  must  be  all  she  should  be  because 
he  wished  to  believe  her  so.  Besides,  she  was  their  cousin. 
That  fact  would  have  settled  any  doubts  in  his  mind.  And 
Lydia,  he  would  have  decided,  was  well  able  to  take  care  of 
herself.  She  was  pert  enough  in  calling  him  to  account  for 
any  lapses  from  propriety. 

Judith,  who  had  been  attracted  to  Lydia  from  the  first, 
decided  it  might  be  worth  while  to  cultivate  her.  If  she 
could  make  a  friend  of  the  sister,  as  well  as  of  the  brother, 
her  position  would  be  all  the  stronger.  She  feared  she 
might  prove  to  be  difficult.  There  were  contradictions  in  her 
that  Judith  found  puzzling.  She  was  friendly,  and  yet  dis 
tant  ;  beautiful,  but  apparently  unconscious  of  the  fact ;  odd 
and  often  abrupt  in  manner,  yet  refined — a  strange  mixture 
of  undisciplined  impulse  and  watchful  reserve.  Judith  won 
dered  if  she  approved  of  her.  She  felt  rather  apprehensive 
of  her  judgment.  Their  standards,  no  doubt,  were  widely 
different.  This  proudly  shy  little  country  girl  was,  perhaps, 
a  rigorous  critic,  with  primitive,  uncompromising  ideas  which 
might  prove  embarrassing.  Had  they  anything  in  common  ? 

Judith  led  the  way  to  the  seat  beneath  the  oaks  and  set 
herself  to  the  task  of  drawing  Lydia  out.  She  soon  dis 
covered  that  her  fears  were  groundless.  Lydia  responded 
to  her  advances  with  evident  pleasure.  It  was  a  relief  to 
her  to  find  that  Judith  did  not  hold  herself  superior.  She 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  189 

was  not  formidable,  after  all,  but  just  a  nice,  unaffected  girl. 
Lydia  warmed  to  her  at  once. 

"  She's  charming,"  she  exclaimed  to  her  father,  when  they 
returned  to  the  house,  "  I  feared  she  mightn't  care  for  me, 
but  she  will,  I'm  sure.  I've  always  wanted  a  girl  friend, 
and  Judith  is  just  the  kind  I  would  have  chosen.  She  is 
lovely  in  every  way,  and  knows  so  much  more  than  your 
little  ignoramus  1  " 

Lydia's  first  step  toward  intimacy  was  to  bear  her  off  to 
her  own  room.  It  was  a  quaint  little  room,  over  the  library 
wing,  with  dainty  furniture  and  the  atmosphere  of  delicacy 
which  always  invests  the  sanctuary  of  an  innocent  young 
girl.  A  corner  near  the  bed  was  occupied  by  a  small  table 
covered  with  a  snowy  cloth  on  which  stood  a  silver  candle 
stick  with  a  wax  taper,  flanked  by  a  Bible  and  a  Prayer 
Book.  On  the  wall  above,  hung  a  porcelain  miniature  of 
Guide's  head  of  the  Saviour  crowned  with  thorns.  This  was 
Lydia's  altar,  at  which  she  said  her  prayers.  It  was  a  holy 
spot  for  her  ;  she  never  approached  it  without  a  stirring  of 
the  religious  feeling  which,  in  spite  of  her  apparent  negli 
gence,  was  so  deeply  rooted  in  her  heart. 

Judith  paused  at  the  threshold,  half  afraid  to  enter.  Her 
presence  seemed  a  kind  of  desecration.  Innocence  was 
something  she  had  once  known,  but  she  had  long  thought 
of  it  indifferently  as  one  of  the  crudities  of  childhood,  which 
are  discarded  as  one  grows  older.  True,  Lydia  was  little 
more  than  a  child,  but  here,  in  this  room,  her  purity  seemed 
to  be  innate,  pervasive,  enduring ;  Judith  found  herself  im 
agining  it  might  have  prevailed  against  even  her  temptations. 
A  spasm  of  pain  contracted  her  features  at  the  thought. 
She  envied  this  girl ;  beside  her,  she  suddenly  felt  the  lack 
of  something  she  had  never  valued  before. 

Lydia  soon  began  to  talk  freely  of  herself,  of  her  various 
interests  and  occupations.  As  she  proceeded,  Judith's 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

jealousy  waxed  stronger.  Lydia's  candid  frankness  stung 
her.  Evidently,  she  had  nothing  to  conceal.  Her  life  was 
not  a  sham  ;  no  doubt,  it  had  always  been  genuine,  open, 
free.  Judith  was  conscious  of  no  inclination  to  be  better 
than  she  was.  Good,  for  its  own  sake,  would  have  seemed 
but  tasteless  fruit  to  her,  for  so  Edgar  Cheston  had  taught 
her.  But  Lydia's  simplicity  was  something  to  be  desired 
because  it  was  impossible  for  her.  It  stamped  her  with  an 
independence,  a  proud  fearlessness  which  she  would  have 
liked  to  feel.  "  I  might  have  been  what  she  is,"  she  said  to 
herself  bitterly,  "  but  for  him"  Yes — she  saw  it  now — he 
had  deceived  her  also  in  this,  belittling  and  sneering  at  the 
innocence  which,  left  to  herself,  she  might  have  preserved. 
She  had  flung  it  away  at  his  bidding,  in  careless  ignorance 
of  its  value.  How  was  she  to  know  ?  She  had  never  been 
taught,  as  most  girls  are  taught,  to  cherish  it  as  her  most 
precious  treasure — the  lustrous  pearl  of  a  virtuous  woman 
hood  to  be  guarded  jealously  as  something  that  a  single 
breath  of  evil  would  sully.  It  was  only  now,  in  this  new 
atmosphere,  that  she  began  to  regret  the  loss  of  it,  and,  as 
yet,  it  was  envy  alone  that  caused  her  distress.  She  had  not 
yet  wakened  to  the  sense  of  shame. 

"  I  must  be  careful  with  her,"  Judith  said  to  herself,  with 
an  angry  glance  at  Lydia.  She  could  easily  imagine  what 
such  a  girl  would  think  of  her.  "  She  would  show  no  mercy 
— she  is  of  my  own  sex,"  she  added,  cynically.  "  If  she  were 
another  Turlo,  now  " — a  scornful  smile  played  about  her 
mouth.  She  had  no  fear  of  masculine  judgments.  Her 
beauty  had  always  turned  the  scale.  Her  confidence  was 
that  of  a  Phryne  appealing  to  what,  she  had  been  taught, 
outweighed  all  else  in  the  eyes  of  men. 

Meanwhile,  Lydia  chattered  on,  delighted  at  being  able  to 
make  a  confidante  of  her  lovely  cousin.  She  even  told  her, 
with  but  few  reservations,  of  her  relations  with  Basil  Kent 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  191 

and  Oswald  Reeve.  An  artless,  enthusiastic  girl  delights  in 
sharing  her  inmost  thoughts  with  one  of  her  own  sex  and 
age,  because  she  hopes  to  find  the  kind  of  sympathy  she 
craves.  Lydia  saw  no  reason  for  not  indulging  this  inclina 
tion  with  Judith.  Was  she  not  her  cousin  ?  Judith  en 
couraged  her,  at  first,  from  mere  politeness,  but  in  a  little 
while,  she  began  to  be  interested.  Lydia  had  her  "  affairs," 
then  ;  had  she  things  to  hide,  after  all  ?  Judith  longed  to 
probe  her,  to  put  her  to  the  test,  in  the  hope  that  she  might 
find  some  blemish  in  her.  She  would  have  rejoiced  in  the 
discovery  that  she  was  not  so  candid  as  she  seemed. 

Lydia's  references  to  Basil  Kent  finally  aroused  Judith's 
curiosity. 

"  What  sort  of  person  is  he  ?  "  she  asked. 

She  was  not  especially  interested  in  Oswald,  whom  Lydia 
had  described  more  particularly.  He  seemed  to  her  to  be  a 
mere  lay  figure — a  handsome  young  man  of  the  world  of  the 
kind  that  had  trooped  about  her  in  shoals.  It  was  a  type 
that  had  long  since  palled  upon  her.  But  Basil,  from  what 
Lydia  had  said,  might  be  worth  considering. 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  Lydia,  laughing.  "  Most 
people  think  him  an  oddity.  They  say  he  is  awkward  and 
solemn  and  hard  to  make  out.  I  never  found  him  so — but 
then,  we've  known  each  other  ever  since  I  was  a  baby;  I 
suppose  I  am  used  to  him.  However,  he  has  been  rather 
queer  of  late."  She  paused  and  added,  with  a  touch  of  shy 
ness,  "  He  bothers  me,  sometimes — that's  the  truth.  I  am 
really  fond  of  him — we  have  always  been  such  friends — but 
he  wants  something  more.  Men  are  very  exacting,  are  they 
not  ?  " 

"  Very ! "  said  Judith,  with  a  laugh.  She  understood. 
Was  Lydia  sincere  or  merely  affecting  impatience  of  a  lover's 
attentions  ?  She  decided  she  could  tell  more  about  it  when 
she  met  Basil  Kent. 


192  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

As  it  happened,  she  met  him  that  afternoon.  Basil  came 
to  the  Manor  ostensibly  with  a  message  from  his  father  to 
the  Colonel,  but  really,  to  see  Lydia.  Judith  did  not  find 
him  "  solemn."  He  was  certainly  serious,  and  at  first,  rather 
shy.  Judith  soon  put  him  at  his  ease.  In  a  little  while, 
they  were  talking  together  as  freely  as  though  they  had 
known  each  other  for  some  time.  She  managed  him  with 
the  quiet  tact  of  a  woman  of  experience,  questioning  him 
adroitly  about  this  and  that,  until  finally,  she  hit  upon  subjects 
upon  which  he  could  talk  with  no  sense  of  effort.  As  he 
talked,  she  began  to  grow  interested.  He  was  a  man  unlike 
any  she  had  ever  known.  His  language  was  simple  and 
direct,  his  manner  free  from  affectation,  his  ideas  unusual. 
His  very  shyness  pleased  her,  as  distinguishing  him  still 
more  sharply  from  the  kind  of  men  who  had  always  thronged 
about  her — the  glib,  self-confident  egotists  whom  Edgar 
Cheston  had  made  her  flatter  and  cajole. 

Basil,  on  his  part,  found  it  pleasanter  than  he  could  have 
believed  possible  to  talk  with  another  girl  in  Lydia's  pres 
ence.  It  was  surprising  to  find  how  many  interests  they 
had  in  common.  They  liked  the  same  books,  it  seemed ; 
they  were  both  fond  of  music,  of  pictures,  of  country  life. 
Basil  began  to  think  that  Judith's  kinship  to  Lydia  accounted 
for  the  enthusiasm  she  showed  in  speaking  of  outdoor  ex 
ercises  ;  she  must  have  inherited  the  instinct  from  a  com 
mon  strain  of  blood.  But  she  was  unlike  Lydia  in  other 
ways.  She  was  no  impetuous  child,  but  a  well-balanced, 
cultivated  young  woman,  who  had  evidently  moved  in  the 
best  society  and  travelled  extensively.  And  she  found  it 
worth  her  while  to  question  him,  whom  women  usually 
treated  as  a  negligible  quantity.  He  was  flattered,  in  spite 
of  his  modesty  and  strong  good  sense. 

Lydia  watched  Basil  with  an  air  of  mischievous  amuse 
ment.  What  had  happened  to  him  ?  How  wonderfully  he 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  193 

was  "  getting  on  "  !     She  had  never  seem  him  so  animated 
with  any  girl  but  herself. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  she  said  to  Judith  with  a  laugh, 
when  he  had  left  them.  "  You  seemed  to  have  no  trouble 
to  make  him  talk." 

"  Is  that  so  very  difficult  ?  "  asked  Judith.  "  He  doesn't 
strike  me  as  being  dull." 

"  Oh,  no ;  but  usually  with  girls,  he  finds  it  hard  to  say 
anything." 

"  Some  girls,  you  mean,"  suggested  Judith.  "  But  with 
you,  he's  never  at  a  loss  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lydia,  blushing,  "  but  that's  different ;  we've 
always  been — well,  like  brother  and  sister,  you  know." 

"  But  he  bothers  you  sometimes,  you  said,"  remarked  Judith, 
carelessly.  "  You  ought  to  be  grateful  to  me  if  I'm  able  to 
take  him  off  your  hands,  now  and  then." 

"  It  would  be  so  good  of  you  I  "  laughed  Lydia. 

Judith  glanced  at  her,  puzzled.     She  was  still  unable  to 
determine  whether  Lydia  was  really  indifferent  or  not.     If 
she  were  not,  she  was  very  clever.     It  might  be  that  this 
"  little  country  girl  "  was  a  better  actress  than  herself. 
'3 


CHAPTER  XIX 

JUDITH  soon  found  herself  to  be  an  object  of  popular 
curiosity  and  attention.  People  flocked  to  the  Rectory  to 
meet  her.  The  story  of  Kdgar  Cheston's  return  to  the 
Manor,  in  prosperous  circumstances,  after  having  so  long 
been  considered  dead,  and  his  daughter's  arrival  to  claim 
her  great-grandfather's  fortune  just  as  it  was  about  to  pass 
into  the  possession  of  the  Rector  and  Mrs.  Tippett,  travelled 
fast  through  the  county  and  excited  the  liveliest  interest. 
Invitations  poured  in  upon  her.  The  generous  hospitality 
which  was  so  marked  a  characteristic  of  Tidewater  life 
exerted  itself  prodigally  to  please  her.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
chief  object  of  effort  at  the  plantation  houses  was  to  "  en 
tertain  "  somebody,  and  for  the  time  being,  she  was  every 
where  the  guest  of  honour.  The  "  Quality,"  apparently,  had 
no  serious  cares.  They  were  always  ready  for  a  fox-hunt,  a 
dance  or  a  dinner.  Young  and  old  participated,  on  such  oc 
casions,  with  equal  zest  and  vivacity.  They  were  like  so  many 
children  in  their  eager  pursuit  of  pleasure,  as  if  nothing  else 
really  mattered. 

It  was  amusing  to  her  to  note  what  an  important  part 
"  good  eating  "  played  in  their  scheme  of  enjoyment.  A  fine 
dinner  was  an  achievement  which  seemed  to  be  an  object  of 
general  felicitation.  The  table  at  every  house  groaned  with 
an  embarrassing  profusion  of  viands.  Judith  was  introduced, 
with  obvious  pride,  to  a  great  variety  of  dishes  which  were 
peculiar  to  the  Tidewater  region.  She  laughingly  confessed 
to  the  Colonel,  one  day,  that  she  was  in  mortal  terror  of 
growing  fat.  "  Whenever  I  go  out  to  dine,"  she  said,  "  I'm 
afraid  to  refuse  anything  lest  I  give  offence.  Everybody 

194 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  19$ 

Seems  so  bent  upon  making  me  eat ;  so  proud  and  happy  if 
I  have  a  good  appetite  !  " 

The  plantation  customs  were  a  constant  source  of  amuse 
ment  to  her.  She  greatly  enjoyed  the  formal  visits  she  paid 
to  this  or  that  "  first  family,"  with  its  stiff  etiquette,  its 
rigid  ceremonies,  its  careful  inquiries  about  her  health,  her 
accomplishments,  her  special  tastes.  The  elaborate  gal 
lantries  of  the  men,  the  obsolete  airs  and  graces  of  the 
women  were  very  diverting.  It  was  really  like  a  play. 
There  was  an  atmosphere  of  bland  complacency,  of  settled 
contentment  and  repose  in  these  old  homes  that  spoke  to  her 
dreamily  of  generations  of  special  privilege  and  exemption 
from  disturbing  influences.  The  very  clocks  had  ticked, 
with  the  same  monotonous  regularity,  for  perhaps  a  hundred 
years.  The  servants  were  descendants  of  half  a  dozen 
generations  of  well-trained  slaves.  Everything  ran  on  in  well- 
worn  grooves  ;  everything  would  doubtless  continue  to  run 
on  thus,  indefinitely,  for  life  here  seemed  impregnable  to  the 
outer  world. 

"  You  were  right,"  she  wrote  once  to  Edgar  in  Washington. 
"  I  have  never  had  so  interesting  a  part  to  play  or  one  that 
required  a  nicer  art.  I  am  '  put  to  my  trumps,'  as  you  pre 
dicted.  I  presume  it  is  the  feeling  of  suspense  that  keeps 
me  from  being  ennuye'.  I  often  wonder  at  myself.  The 
people  who  knew  me  on  the  stage  would  wonder  still  more. 
It  would  seem  absurd  to  them  that  I  could  be  content  with 
so  humdrum  a  life.  At  times,  when  things  are  more  than 
usually  soporific — after  these  heavy  dinners,  for  example, 
when  people  sit  about  and  stare  at  each  other  and  drone  of 
trivialities — I  feel  like  springing  up  and  shocking  them  with 
a  pirouette  or  breaking  out  into  one  of  my  naughtiest  songs. 
But  the  temptation  is  only  momentary.  Upon  the  whole,  I 
like  this  torpor — it  is  so  restful — and  the  people  are  very 
amusing.  Besides,  it  is  delightful  to  be  respectable.  Peir 


196  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

haps,  it  is  really  my  vocation  to  be  a  lady  after  all.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  are  exciting  moments  when  I  find  myself 
about  to  tumble  into  pitfalls  of  prejudices,  of  strange  points 
of  view,  of  moral  affectations  which  you  left  out — unwisely,  as  I 
think — from  your  scheme  of  education  for  me.  Fortunately, 
my  new  friends  seem  willing  to  make  very  liberal  allowances, 
and  when,  by  any  accident,  I  am  more  than  ordinarily 
audacious — of  course,  I  never  mean  to  be — their  attitude  is 
kindly  compassionate,  as  though  saying  among  themselves, 
'  Poor  thing,  she  wasn't  brought  up  like  us  ;  how  could  she 
be  expected  to  know  better  ? '  " 

To  Judith's  great  surprise,  she  discovered  that,  in  spite 
of  their  very  free  habits,  there  was  an  almost  fanatical  intol 
erance  among  the  Tidewater  men,  as  well  as  the  women,  in 
matters  of  religion.  Fortunately,  she  made  the  discovery 
in  time  to  avoid  betrayal  of  her  indifference.  Men  who 
drank  hard  and  occasionally  slipped  out  an  oath,  even  in  the 
presence  of  ladies,  would  discuss  theological  questions  at  the 
dinner  table  with  the  utmost  earnestness,  and  apparently, 
with  actual  relish.  Scepticism  seemed  to  be  an  unknown 
thing.  Evidently,  it  was  taken  for  granted  that  everyone 
believed  in  God  ;  that  no  one  could  presume  to  doubt  the 
propriety  of  eternal  damnation. 

At  first,  noting  the  frequent  contrasts  between  profession 
and  practice,  she  was  inclined  to  think  that  many  of  these 
zealots  must  be  hypocritical ;  but,  gradually,  she  became  con 
vinced  that  nearly  all  of  them  were  sincere.  Even  those 
who  were  open  backsliders  did  not  seem  to  question  a  creed 
that  bore  heavily  upon  them,  but  accepted  it  in  its  entirety 
without  demur,  and  applied  it  with  unsparing  rigour  to  others. 
Doubtless,  it  was  a  form  of  bigotry  which,  inconsistent  as  it 
seemed,  was,  after  all,  a  natural  product  of  narrowing  con 
ditions.  These  people  knew  of  no  other  ideas  and  were 
wholly  ignorant  of  the  many  influences  which  came  into  play 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  197 

elsewhere — influences  such,  for  example,  as  had  directed  and 
controlled  her  life. 

Her  life  !  What  consternation  it  would  excite  among  them 
if  they  but  knew  !  The  rustic  purists  who  admired  her  so 
frankly,  who  feted  her  so  generously,  would  they  not  shrink 
from  her  as  contaminating  if  they  suspected  even  a  tithe  of 
the  truth  ?  Well,  why  should  she  care  ?  They  didn't  know. 
And  after  all,  what  was  their  condemnation  to  her  ?  She  had 
long  considered  herself  exempt  from  accountability  to  stand 
ards  which  had  no  practical  meaning  for  her,  which  were 
incapable  of  being  enforced  against  her.  It  were  silly  to 
concern  herself  about  delinquencies  which  were  serious  only 
as  they  might  offend  these  poor,  narrow  souls.  Nevertheless, 
she  began  to  be  disturbed.  The  absolute  confidence  of  their 
opinions  weighed  upon  her.  At  first,  she  had  gone  to  church 
and  had  knelt  with  the  Rector  at  family  prayers  without  the 
least  scruple,  regarding  such  acts  as  wholly  perfunctory,  but 
one  Sunday  afternoon,  she  was  made  to  realise  that  something 
more  was  required.  It  was  "  communion  "  Sunday,  and  the 
Rector  had  noticed  with  pain  that  she  had  not  come  forward 
with  the  other  communicants.  After  dinner,  while  they 
were  strolling  alone  together  in  the  garden,  he  turned  to  her 
with  an  air  of  grave  solicitude. 

"  You  did  not  come  to  communion,  my  child,"  he  said 
gently.  He  imagined  merely  that  she  had  not  felt  herself 
to  be  in  the  proper  frame  of  mind,  and  wondered  what  tri 
fling  sin  she  could  have  upon  her  conscience. 

She  drew  back,  frightened.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her 
that  he  would  ask  this  of  her.  What  answer  could  she  make  ? 
How  could  she  tell  him  that  she  had  only  the  vaguest  idea 
of  what  the  communion  meant  ?  She  knew  it  was  a  rite  of 
peculiar  solemnity  and  one  in  which  she  had  no  claim  to 
share.  Mere  conformity  was  one  thing  ;  to  take  an  active 
part  in  religious  observances,  to  profess  herself  a  zealous 


198  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

believer — that  was  going  farther  than  she  liked.  But  as  the 
Rector's  granddaughter,  she  would  be  expected  to  fully  share 
Jiis  faith.  How  was  she  to  escape  ?  Edgar  hadn't  thought 
of  this  when  he  proposed  the  "  bit  of  comedy  "  for  her.  Or 
perhaps  he  had,  and  considered  it  easy.  But  it  wasn't 
easy.  Something  within  her  stirred  in  revolt. 

"  I  had  no  right,"  she  stammered. 

"  No  right !  "  exclaimed  the  Rector,  horrified.  "  Surely, 
you  can't  mean  you  have  never  been  confirmed?" 

"  Confirmed  ?  What  is  that  ?  "  she  asked,  bewildered. 
She  had  never  heard  of  the  word  in  its  ecclesiastical  sense  ; 
she  was  ignorant  even  as  to  whether  she  had  been  baptised. 
Religious  instruction  was  something  that  neither  her  father 
nor  Edgar  had  deemed  it  necessary  to  impart. 

The  Rector  turned  away  from  her  with  a  groan.  This  was 
dreadful.  He  would  not  have  believed  it  even  of  Edgar 
Cheston.  It  seemed  incredible  that,  himself  reared  in  the 
Church,  he  should  have  permitted  his  daughter  to  grow  up 
in  ignorance  of  the  most  primary  facts  of  religion.  And  she 
so  brilliant,  so  well-informed  in  other  things  !  No  time  must 
be  lost  in  repairing  this  terrible  wrong.  Tenderly,  pityingly, 
he  expounded  to  her  his  simple  creed,  in  full  confidence  that 
this  was  all  that  was  needed  to  win  her  to  his  fold.  She 
listened  to  him  indifferently,  at  first,  feeling  it  were  hardly 
worth,  while.  He  little  knew  what  unpromising  material  he 
was  trying  to  work  with  !  As  he  went  on,  his  words  became 
painful  to  her.  His  definitions  of  goodness,  of  Christian 
aspiration,  of  what  it  was  indispensable  to  believe,  of  what 
to  reject,  brought  sharply  before  her  mind  the  pictures  of  her 
past  which  contrasted  most  strongly  with  his  ideas.  Was  it 
possible  she  had  been  so  culpable  ?  She  shuddered  at  his 
unconscious  indictment  of  her.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was 
everything  he  would  wish  her  not  to  be.  And  this  was  not 
all ;  to  satisfy  his  requirements,  she  must  strive  for  a  barren 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  199 

perfectibility  that  was  not  only  unattractive  but  repugnant  to 
her  because  it  exacted  impossible  sacrifices.  Its  primary 
element  was  truthfulness.  The  whole  structure  of  the  Rector's 
code  was  built  up  about  the  one  central  fact  of  a  virtue  that 
her  mere  presence  beside  him  denied  to  her. 

How  could  she  be  truthful  ?  That  would  mean  to  abandon 
her  imposture,  to  give  up  all  she  had  won — position,  wealth, 
the  esteem  which  was  so  grateful  to  her.  There  was  Basil 
Kent,  for  instance.  She  had  come  to  value  this  man's  friend 
ship  ;  was  she  tamely  to  suffer  the  loss  of  it  ?  And  the 
Rector  himself — she  was  beginning  to  love  him  ;  must  she 
confess  to  him  that  she  was  a  cheat  ?  No,  she  couldn't  afford 
it.  It  would  be  to  surrender  material  benefits  for  a  mere 
idea,  a  shadowy  satisfaction  of  impulses  which  were  absurd 
in  her.  It  was  too  ridiculous  !  Who  was  she  to  be  squeamish  ? 
Whatever  might  be  the  extenuating  circumstances  in  her 
ignorance,  her  youth,  the  evil  tutelage  of  Edgar  Cheston,  the 
fact  remained  that  she  was  what  she  was  of  her  own  choice  : 
she  was  simply  following  the  law  of  her  desires.  Yes, 
she  would  have  done  it  all  over  again,  deliberately,  as  the 
only  possible  means  of  satisfying  her  special  needs,  her 
longings,  her  ambition.  The  Rector  had  succeeded  in  making 
her  uncomfortable,  but  the  "  conscience  "  he  had  talked  about 
— she  felt  no  pricks.  She  laughed  in  scorn  at  the  thought 
that  any  motive  other  than  self-interest  could  seriously  weigh 
with  her.  It  was  annoying  to  have  to  deceive  people  who 
attached  so  much  importance  to  their  arbitrary  moralities — 
that  was  all  1 

For  some  weeks,  Judith  had  been  thrown  a  good  deal  with 
Basil  Kent.  Whenever  she  went  to  the  Manor,  he  was  there, 
and  he  came  often  to  the  Rectory.  Mrs.  Tippett  one  day 
told  her,  with  a  significant  smile,  that  they  now  saw  Basil 
much  more  frequently.  To  her  other  functions,  Mrs.  Tippett 
added  that  of  matchmaker  for  the  parish.  She  hoped  to 


200  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

bring  about  the  marriage  of  Judith  and  Basil.  It  would  be 
a  convenient  solution  of  her  difficulties.  With  Judith  out  of 
the  way,  she  would  soon  regain  her  lost  dominion  over  her 
brother. 

Basil  found  an  increasing  pleasure  in  Judith's  companion 
ship.  She  appealed  to  him  not  only  because  she  was  charm 
ing,  but  because  she  seemed  to  divine  his  thoughts,  to  sympa 
thise  with  his  views,  to  be  congenial  to  him  mentally  in  a 
way  that  not  even  Lydia  had  ever  been.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  experience,  he  was  thrown 'with  an  accomplished  woman, 
young,  beautiful,  sparkling  with  wit  and  humour,  who  did  not 
shrink  from  his  seriousness,  but  seemed  to  find  pleasure  in  it. 
How  could  he  suspect  that  he  had  to  do  with  a  clever  poseuse 
whose  special  business  it  was  to  study  men,  to  find  out  their 
weak  points,  and  then,  fool  them  to  the  top  of  their  bent  ? 
She  had  read  him  easily,  in  spite  of  his  strangeness  to  her. 
It  was  evident  he  was  terribly  in  earnest  about  things.  It 
would  not  do  to  trifle  with  him  as  she  had  trifled  with  other 
men  ;  he  would  not  understand — she  might  easily  shock  him. 
It  were  something  new  and  exciting  to  try  her  skill  with 
him.  He  might  prove  worthy  of  her  nicest  art.  At  all 
events,  he  was  sure  not  to  be  commonplace ;  in  his  way,  he 
might  be  amusing. 

It  was  a  kind  of  flirtation  for  which  she  had  been  intention 
ally  trained.  Edgar  had  anticipated  the  possibility  of  as 
sociation  with  serious  men,  and  for  that  reason,  had  taken 
pains  to  give  her  a  broad  education.  He  knew  that  nothing 
could  add  so  strong  a  provocation  to  her  beauty  as  the 
ability  to  converse  with  them  sympathetically,  to  cater  to 
their  intellectual  conceit  and  flatter  them  with  the  notion  that 
their  minds  were  attractive  to  her.  These  so-called  wise  men 
were  often  such  fools  !  Judith  soon  convinced  herself  that, 
in  Basil's  case,  this  subtle  form  of  flattery  would  work  like  a 
charm.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  more  effective  with  him  because 


201 

it  was  distinctly  reassuring.  It  encouraged  him  to  hope 
that  he  had  been  mistaken,  after  all,  in  assuming  that 
women  were  necessarily  impatient  of  qualities  in  him  which 
were  the  opposite  of  those  he  had  envied  in  men  who  had  so 
often  humbled  him  in  their  presence.  There  was  one  woman, 
at  any  rate,  who  always  welcomed  him  with  a  smile ;  who 
talked  with  him  by  the  hour  with  no  sign  of  weariness  or 
effort ;  who  even  exhibited  curiosity  as  to  his  impressions, 
his  opinions  of  things,  and  eagerly  challenged  him  to  dis 
cussion. 

Basil  had  to  admit  to  himself  that,  at  times,  she  was  rather 
daring ;  more  than  once,  she  almost  took  his  breath  away 
by  her  free  handling  of  subjects  which  no  woman  had  ever 
ventured  to  discuss  in  his  presence.  Her  mental  attitude 
was  wholly  unlike  that  of  the  typical  plantation  lady.  Many 
of  the  Tidewater  women  were  bookish ;  not  a  few  had 
literary  tastes  which  found  expression  chiefly  in  elaborate 
epistles  to  their  friends  in  which  wit  and  fancy  clothed 
themselves  in  many  a  quaint,  pedantic  form.  But  their  in 
tellectuality  kept  well  within  safe  bounds ;  it  never  strayed 
beyond  the  borders  of  a  circumspect  domesticity.  Judith 
seemed  to  think  the  mind  was  untrammelled ;  with  apparent 
unconsciousness,  she  ranged  at  will  over  territory  which  Basil 
had  been  taught  to  look  upon  as  forbidden  to  her  sex.  But 
it  was  easy  to  reconcile  this  with  a  healthy  nature,  when  he 
reflected  that  she  had  been  reared  in  a  different  atmosphere  : 
she  had  doubtless  been  trained  to  think  independently,  to 
inquire,  without  regard  to  conventions  which,  after  all,  might 
be  merely  local.  He  had  but  to  look  into  her  eyes,  which 
had  the  trick  of  innocence,  to  convince  himself  that  she  was 
guiltless  of  intention. 

Judith  had  soon  discovered  that  he  was  really  enamoured 
of  Lydia.  She  was  too  clever  to  set  herself  up  openly  as  a 
rival.  A  man  who  is  honestly  in  love  is  always  on  his  guard 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

against  patent  coquetry.  He  is  vain  of  his  fidelity  and 
quick  to  take  alarm.  She  had  no  idea  of  exposing  herself  to 
the  humiliation  of  avoidance  even  though  it  were  a  sign  of 
weakness  in  him.  Her  power  lay  in  presenting  herself  to 
him  in  a  character  radically  different  from  Lydia's  in  which 
her  beauty  would  shine  upon  him  through  the  medium  of 
friendship,  a  friendship  that  might  gradually  steal  upon  him, 
revealing  itself  at  last  as  something  more  precious  than  he 
had  dreamed.  Yes,  the  only  way  to  approach  him  was  on 
his  intellectual  side.  She  had  no  fear  of  Lydia  there. 

She  fully  expected  to  be  bored,  now  and  then ;  but  as  she 
came  to  know  Basil  better,  she  was  surprised  to  find  that  she 
wasn't  bored  at  all.  He  introduced  her  to  a  novel  set  of  ideas. 
It  was  interesting  to  hear  him  profess  belief  in  principles  of 
action  which  were  flatly  opposed  to  all  Edgar  Cheston  had 
taught  her.  Unworldliness,  from  his  point  of  view,  was  an 
estimable  thing,  not  a  matter  for  ridicule  and  avoidance. 
He  really  seemed  to  believe  that  morality  was  ordained  of 
God,  instead  of  being,  as  Edgar  had  so  often  explained 
to  her,  a  mere  code  of  rules  invented  by  society  to  protect 
itself  against  predatory  natures  like  their  own.  There  was 
a  kind  of  romance  for  her  in  his  singularity.  It  seemed  un 
real,  the  creation  of  one's  fancy,  not  a  substantial  thing  for 
every  day  use.  Nevertheless,  she  believed  in  him.  What 
might  be  impossible  for  others  seemed  feasible  for  him.  She 
could  imagine  him  going  to  any  lengths  of  suffering  rather 
than  yield  to  what  he  considered  wrong.  She  was  often 
reminded  of  certain  high-flown,  impossible  characters,  as 
they  had  seemed  to  her,  in  novels,  and  here  was  such  a  char 
acter  in  actual  life.  She  doubted  whether  anyone  who  knew 
him  perceived  that  he  was  an  idealist.  An  "  oddity,"  some 
people  thought  him — so  Lydia  had  said — but  they  judged  him 
merely  from  surface  indications.  He  was  usually  so  quiet, 
so  practical,  so  matter  of  fact,  that  probably  none  suspected 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  203 

that  he  had  a  strong  vein  of  poetry  in  his  nature — a  poetry  that 
exhibited  itself  to  her  in  sudden  flashes  when  he  forgot  him 
self  in  the  glow  of  some  eager  expression  of  his  more  secret 
thoughts.  She  often  felt  a  thrill  of  triumph  when  she  had 
worked  him  up  to  this  point.  It  was  clear  she  had  acquired 
the  power  of  tempting  him  to  reveal  his  inner  nature  to  her, 
of  overcoming  his  diffidence,  of  making  him  feel  that  he  ran 
no  risk  with  her  of  being  thought  queer. 

But  he  was  queer.  Sometimes,  he  frightened  her.  There 
was  no  such  thing  as  compromise  with  him  in  questions  of 
conduct.  He  was  really  a  bigot.  She  often  found  herself 
wishing  he  had  not  quite  so  high  an  opinion  of  her.  Suppose, 
by  any  chance,  he  came  to  suspect  her  ?  In  that  case,  would 
not  his  resentment  be  as  extreme  as  was  his  mistaken  con 
fidence  in  her  ?  She  trembled  at  his  unsparing  condem 
nation  of  things  of  which  she  was  especially  guilty.  She 
feared  his  judgment  even  more  than  the  Rector's.  The  old 
man  loved  her ;  his  nature  was  so  gentle  that  he  would  in 
stinctively  seek  to  excuse  her.  Basil  was  so  hardly  truthful 
that  he  seemed  to  her  likely  to  be  pitiless  in  exacting  veracity 
of  others.  Pshaw  !  He  was  but  a  man  ;  how  could  he  resist 
her  ?  "  If  I  am  as  fascinating  as  they  say,"  she  murmured 
to  herself,  "  I  shall,  sooner  or  later,  bring  him  to  my  feet. 
Once  there,  he  won't  mind  having  been  deceived." 

The  game  was  more  than  merely  amusing ;  it  had  begun 
to  absorb  her.  She  wished  to  win  it,  now,  not  to  satisfy  her 
vanity,  but  because  she  saw  dimly  shadowed  forth  a  future 
that  excited  her  ambition.  The  quality  of  power  in  Basil 
had  grown  upon  her.  It  was  power  of  which  he  seemed  to 
be  more  or  less  unconscious,  and  evidently,  did  not  know 
how  to  use.  She  often  smiled  as  she  watched  him,  thinking 
that,  in  some  things,  he  was  as  simple  as  a  child.  He 
needed  some  one  to  form  him,  to  bring  him  out,  to  put 
him  in  touch  with  influences  that  would  temper  his  ideas 


204  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

and  give  direction  and  purpose  to  his  energies.  What  if 
she  were  to  take  him  in  hand  ?  She  knew  the  world,  and 
it  was  this  knowledge  he  seemed  to  lack.  Why  should  she 
not  supply  it  ?  Her  beauty,  her  tact,  her  art  in  pleasing, 
her  ability  to  penetrate  the  motives  of  average  people,  her 
freedom  from  the  illusions  which  so  often  blinded  him — what 
could  be  more  useful  to  a  man  wrapped  up,  as  he  was,  in  all 
sorts  of  prejudices  and  wasting  his  faculties  in  idle  specula 
tion  ?  Yes,  she  could  make  something  of  him  ;  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  share  his  success.  What  mattered  it  if,  in  the 
meantime,  he  was  humbugged  for  his  own  good  ?  He  would 
owe  much  to  her  ;  he  would  even  have  cause  to  be  grateful 
to  her  for  hiding  her  past  from  him. 

Good  Heavens  1  Did  she  care  for  him  so  much  ?  Was  she, 
who  had  felt  herself  secure  in  her  indifference  to  men,  in  the 
grasp  of  a  genuine  attachment  ?  Well — she  did  not  know ; 
she  could  not  be  sure.  Undoubtedly,  a  new,  a  vital  influence 
stirred  her.  Basil's  future  relation  to  her  had  become  a 
matter  of  grave  importance.  As  yet,  he  was  friendly — very 
friendly — nothing  more.  She  had  never  felt  uncertainty  of 
this  kind  before  ;  men  had  invariably  made  love  to  her  when 
she  so  willed  it.  And  what  would  Edgar  Cheston  say  when  he 
returned  from  Washington  and  found  her  involved  in  such 
an  affair  ?  He  had  been  compelled  to  give  her  a  certain 
freedom  in  order  that  she  might  serve  his  ends,  but  she  had 
reason  to  doubt  whether  he  would  consent  to  share  her 
with  another  man.  Suppose  he  proved  stubborn — what 
then  ?  He  had  but  to  convey  a  word  or  two  to  Basil  to  com 
promise  her  irretrievably.  Well,  she  could  ruin  him,  and 
she  would.  Yes,  if  he  betrayed  her,  she  would  not  hes 
itate  to  pull  down  the  whole  structure  of  their  fraud  about 
his  ears.  Of  course,  she  would  be  crushed  in  the  ruins 
but  that  were  better  than  to  be  disgraced  with  Basil. 

And   now,  she   knew.     She   loved  this  man  1     She,  the 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  205 

scoffer  at  love  ;  the  gay  comedienne  who  had  so  often  played 
with  passion,  with  careless  lightness  born  of  contempt ;  the 
heartless  coquette  who  had  used  her  beauty  only  to  gratify 
her  vanity  and  to  fill  Edgar  Cheston's  purse !  She  loved  him 
because  he  believed  in  her  ;  because  he  dignified  her  in  her 
own  thoughts,  in  spite  of  what  she  knew  of  herself,  by  his 
implicit  confidence ;  because  he  showed  her  a  deference,  a 
respect  no  other  man  had  ever  shown  her,  with  a  touch  of 
reverence  as  though  she  were  some  exalted  creature  far 
above  him ;  but  above  all,  because  he  was  so  unlike  those 
others — so  clean-minded,  so  honest,  so  true.  Ah,  if  she 
were  but  worthy  of  him  !  Well — she  might  have  been,  had 
her  life  been  differently  shaped.  She  thought,  with  a  sudden 
shiver  of  fear,  of  what  she  actually  was.  Could  he  ever  for 
give  her  if  he  knew  ?  Even  if  she  brought  him  to  her  feet, 
could  she  really  reconcile  him  to  her  past  ?  Was  he  capable 
of  a  passion  that  would  sweep  all  before  it — even  his  stub 
born  ideas  of  honour,  his  hatred  of  deceit,  his  absurd  re 
quirement  of  truthfulness  in  women  ?  But  to  vanquish  him 
in  this  way  would  be  to  degrade  him,  to  rob  him  of  the 
qualities  that  most  appealed  to  her,  to  bring  him  down  to  her 
level.  Ah,  she  loved  him !  He  must  be  hers.  There  was 
no  other  course,  if  she  was  ever  to  hold  him  safe.  Could 
she  do  it  ?  Could  any  woman  ?  He  seemed  so  strong ! 
How  was  she  to  satisfy  herself  on  this  point  ? 

One  afternoon,  she  obtained  by  chance  the  knowledge  she 
coveted.  She  and  Basil  had  been  strolling  in  the  garden  at 
the  Manor,  and  had  sat  down  on  a  bench  near  the  gateway 
at  the  lower  end.  In  front  of  them  was  a  rustic  bridge 
spanning  a  tiny  stream,  the  railings  overgrown  with  honey 
suckle  and  climbing  roses.  To  the  right,  rose  a  bit  of  brick 
wall,  old  and  broken,  on  which  a  lizard  was  lying  asleep  in 
the  sun.  A  slight  breeze  caused  a  thick  clump  of  canes  a 
few  rods  away  to  bend  and  nod  gracefully,  and  wafted  sweet 


206  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

odours  from  a  group  of  tall  young  locust  trees  whose  foliage 
was  dappled  with  waving  clusters  of  snowy  blossoms.  The 
fickle,  variable  beauty  of  early  spring,  its  alternating  fits  of 
chilliness  and  warmth,  like  the  moods  of  a  coquettish  girl, 
had  gone,  and  all  its  tender  promises  were  now  redeemed 
in  the  maturer  loveliness  of  a  full  unfolding  of  leaf  and 
flower. 

They  had  been  discussing  a  great  masterpiece  of  fiction 
which  told  the  story  of  a  man's  infatuation  for  a  beautiful 
but  fickle  woman  for  whose  sake  he  repeatedly  commits  dis 
graceful  actions.  Basil  admitted  the  possibility  of  such  a 
passion,  but  claimed  that,  if  the  man  had  been  strong,  he 
would  have  combated  it  the  moment  it  brought  him  face  to 
face  with  dishonour.  He  might  have  failed  again  and  again, 
but  in  the  end,  he  would  have  won. 

"  Are  you  so  sure  of  that  ? "  said  Judith  incredulously, 
with  a  touch  of  impatience.  "  You  don't  know  women  !  " 

Basil  glanced  at  her  in  surprise.  She  seemed  almost  angry 
with  him.  What  had  he  said  to  offend  her  ?  Oh,  well — no 
doubt  she  was  a  trifle  irritated  on  behalf  of  her  sex :  she 
was  rather  inclined  to  assert  its  power.  Perhaps,  she  was 
right.  In  some  confusion,  he  remembered  his  ignominious 
collapse  when  Lydia  had  unconsciously  tempted  him.  But 
that  was  different.  No  question  of  disgrace  had  been  in 
volved  ;  Lydia  could  never  have  led  him  to  dishonour. 

"  I  admit  my  ignorance,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  But  I  can't 
imagine  a  man,  who  is  really  worthy  of  the  name,  succumb 
ing  to  a  woman,  however  charming,  if  he  cannot  respect  her. 
Of  course,  I  can  only  speak  for  myself :  if  such  a  passion 
possessed  me,  I  think  I  could  pluck  it  out." 

There  was  a  gleam  of  mockery  in  Judith's  eyes.  He  only 
thought  so !  She  had  noticed  he  had  hesitated  before  re 
plying.  Could  it  be  that  he  had  had  some  experience  that 
made  him  doubtful  ?  At  that  moment,  Lydia  passed  close  to 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  207 

them  on  her  way  to  the  house  from  the  barn.  She  had  seen 
them,  from  a  distance,  but  hurried  on,  without  greeting  them 
or  looking  round.  Basil  had  only  a  brief  glimpse  of  her  as 
she  disappeared  behind  a  hedge,  but  in  that  glimpse,  Judith 
surprised  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  told  her  all.  She  had  seen 
the  same  look  in  other  men's  eyes,  and  knew  what  it  meant. 
He  was  weak  as  water  with  this  girl !  He  had  thought  of 
her  when  he  had  hesitated.  He  had  felt  he  might  not  be 
able  to  resist  her.  Yes,  there  was  a  flaw  in  the  armour  of  his 
conceit,  and  Judith  thought  she  knew  how  to  reach  it. 

If  Lydia  could  gain  such  power  over  him,  it  ought  not  to 
be  difficult  for  her.  What  was  Lydia  but  a  pretty,  wilful,  un 
formed  girl,  while  she- Of  course,  his  feeling  for  Lydia, 

however  strong  it  might  be,  could  be  but  evanescent.  He 
was  charmed  by  her  wildness,  her  grace,  her  piquant  beauty, 
but  it  was  absurd  to  suppose  that  he  would  not  weary  of  her 
ignorance,  her  caprices,  her  incapacity  to  share  his  more 
serious  thoughts,  to  give  him  the  kind  of  sympathy  which  she, 
Judith,  was  giving  him,  v/hich  was  plainly  becoming  more 
and  more  grateful  to  him.  She  even  felt  like  thanking 
Lydia.  Had  she  not  been  the  means  of  proving  to  her  that 
Basil  was  weak  precisely  as  she  wished  him  to  be  ?  Now 
that  she  was  sure  of  this,  she  could  go  forward  resolutely. 
The  issue  could  not 'be  doubtful  as  between  Lydia  and  her, 
even  if  Lydia  were  not  indifferent.  Let  Lydia  be  ever  so 
clever,  she  had  not  her  experience,  her  fertility  of  expedient, 
the  subtlety  she  had  learned  in  a  school  of  intrigue,  of  strat 
agem,  of  searching  analysis  of  the  weaknesses  of  men.  "  He 
shall  prefer  me  to  that  chit  1  "  she  said  to  herself,  with  an 
insolent  sense  of  power. 

Lydia  had  been  tempted  to  pause  on  seeing  Judith  and 
Basil,  but  something  in  their  manner  caused  her  to  change 
her  mind.  They  seemed  strangely  absorbed.  She  moved 
on  towards  the  house,  with  a  strong  feeling  of  disquiet. 


2o8  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Could  it  be  that  they  were  closer  friends  than  she  had  im 
agined  ?  The  idea  annoyed  her.  Yet  why  should  she  care  ? 
Ought  she  not,  in  fact,  to  be  glad  ?  She  had  told  Judith  that 
Basil  "  bothered  "  her,  and  she  had  been  quite  sincere — at  the 
time.  But  she  hadn't  expected  this.  It  was  one  thing  to 
be  relieved,  now  and  then,  of  an  affection  that  was  incon 
venient,  that  put  forth  embarrassing  claims ;  it  was  quite 
another  thing — a  thing  she  did  not  relish — to  face  the  pos 
sibility  of  Judith's  substitution  for  herself  as  the  object  of 
Basil's  exclusive  devotion.  The  sudden  sight  of  them,  in  a 
moment  of  what  seemed  to  be  peculiar  intimacy,  caused  her 
to  feel  that  she  had  been  summarily  set  aside.  What  was 
she  to  think  of  Basil's  ardent  professions  ?  He  had  boasted 

of  a  love  for  her  that  would  stand  any  test,  yet  now And 

she  had  hinted  to  Judith  that  he  cared  a  good  deal !  Her 
cheeks  burned  at  the  thought. 

Oswald  Reeve,  who  was  now  a  regular  visitor  at  the 
Manor,  happened  to  make  his  appearance  that  afternoon. 
Lydia  received  him  with  a  cordiality  that  was  almost  effu 
sive.  He  was  the  more  welcome  because  Judith  and  Basil 
were  in  the  parlor,  conversing  together  with  the  same  hateful 
air  of  intimacy.  She  talked  to  Oswald  with  feverish  anima 
tion.  It  was  consoling  to  be  able  to  show  Basil  there  was 
some  one — even  if  he  were  Reeve's  son — who  still  found  her 
interesting.  As  for  Judith,  the  dear  cousin  whom  she  had 
thought  so  charming — well,  she  could  conceive  the  possibility 
of  an  active  dislike  of  her,  if  she  really  meant  to  monopolise 
Basil. 


CHAPTER  XX 

LYDIA  grew  more  and  more  restless  as  time  wore  on,  and 
Basil,  apparently,  continued  to  be  preoccupied  with  Judith. 
The  worst  of  it  was  she  couldn't  be  quite  sure  he  really  pre 
ferred  Judith.  Now  and  then,  he  would  look  at  her  or  speak 
in  a  way  that  made  her  fancy  he  might  still  care  for  her. 
The  uncertainty  was  very  trying.  If  he  and  Judith  loved 
each  other,  why  didn't  they  say  so  ?  There  was  no  reason 
for  secrecy  that  she  could  see.  It  would  be  such  a  relief  to 
know  it  was  all  over  and  settled.  She  would  not  admit  to 
herself  it  was  any  special  concern  of  hers,  and  yet,  she  felt 
cross,  dissatisfied,  almost  unhappy. 

Her  sense  of  irritation  became  acute  during  a  sailing  ex 
pedition  down  the  river  which  the  Colonel  had  organised  as 
one  of  several  entertainments  in  honor  of  his  niece.  It  was 
a  bright  May  morning,  and  when  the  start  was  made  from 
the  wharf  in  the  cove,  some  twenty  boats  were  in  line,  with 
the  Colonel's  canoe  in  the  lead.  There  was  a  fresh  breeze 
wafting  the  fragrant  scent  of  wild-grape  blossoms  from  the 
high  wooded  banks  of  the  opposite  shore.  The  surface  of 
the  cove  was  but  slightly  ruffled,  but  when  its  mouth  was 
reached,  the  river  showed  an  angry  face.  White-caps  were 
breaking  in  all  directions,  and  sea-gulls  flitted  hither  and 
thither  like  flakes  of  foam  tossed  up  from  the  surf.  The 
saucy  little  canoes  plunged  bravely  into  the  surging  waters 
and  sped  gaily  on  under  shortened  sail. 

Judith  was  in  the  Colonel's   boat.     She  sat  in  the  stern 

near  the  tiller  with  Basil  who  was  steering.     Lydia  was  in 

the  bow  of  the  next  canoe  with  Oswald  Reeve.     Judith  and 

Basil  were  almost  under  her  eyes  as  the  one  canoe  followed 

14  209 


210  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

close  in  the  wake  of  the  other.  She  watched  them  anxiously, 
with  an  uneasy  sense  of  expectation,  and  found  it  hard  work 
to  keep  up  a  lively  conversation  with  Oswald.  Judith  and 
Basil  chatted  pleasantly  together:  to  Lydia's  sharpened 
perception,  they  seemed  to  be  having  a  provokingly  good 
time.  Basil  never  once  looked  round  at  her.  After  awhile, 
she  heard  Judith  say, 

"  I  would  like  to  learn  how  to  steer,  Mr.  Kent.  It  seems 
easy.  Won't  you  teach  me  ?  " 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Basil,  promptly.  "  But  it  isn't  so 
very  easy  to  manage  a  canoe,"  he  added,  laughing. 

As  briefly  as  he  could,  he  explained  the  mysteries  of  sail 
and  centreboard  and  tiller,  and  then  proceeded  to  give  her 
a  practical  lesson  by  guiding  her  hand  to  the  right  place  on 
the  helm  and  showing  her  how  to  work  it.  Judith  seemed 
to  find  the  trial  difficult.  She  made  so  many  mistakes  that 
Basil  was  kept  busy  seizing  the  tiller,  and  with  it  her  hand, 
to  hold  the  canoe  reasonably  true  to  its  course.  It  seemed 
to  Lydia  that  he  did  this  oftener  than  was  really  necessary, 
and  once,  when  his  hand  remained,  clasping  Judith's  much 
longer  than  usual,  an  angry  flush  dyed  her  cheeks.  Yielding 
to  a  hasty  impulse,  she  cried  out  sharply, 

"Be  careful,  Basil ;  you'll  upset  the  boat !  " 

Basil  did  not  heed  her.  Her  warning  was,  in  fact,  super 
fluous  :  there  was  not  the  slightest  danger,  and  he  would 
only  have  laughed  at  her.  But  as  it  happened,  he  had  not 
heard  her.  Judith  caught  the  words  distinctly  enough,  and 
glanced  at  Basil.  He  gave  no  sign,  and  her  heart  beat  more 
quickly.  Had  she  succeeded  so  soon  in  making  him  deaf 
to  Lydia's  voice,  or  at  least,  inattentive  ?  It  really  seemed 
so.  Lydia,  herself,  had  no  doubt  at  all  on  the  subject.  "  He 
has  ears  and  eyes  only  for  Judith,  now,"  she  said  to  herself, 
with  a  keen  sense  of  mortification.  Turning  to  Oswald,  she 
began  to  talk  volubly.  He  was  not  indifferent.  Far  from 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  211 

it.  He  listened  eagerly,  rejoicing  in  what  he  naturally  con 
strued  as  something  more  than  mere  friendliness. 

An  hour's  run  brought  the  boats  to  a  small  island  on  which 
stood  a  serried  growth  of  tall,  straight  pines.  Here,  the  party 
disembarked  for  luncheon.  While  awaiting  the  roasting  of 
oysters  and  other  preparations,  the  company  broke  up  into 
groups  and  strolled  along  the  beach  or  through  the  miniature 
forest,  thickly  strewn  with  pine  cones  and  needles,  with 
here  and  there  a  ragged  stretch  of  coarse  marsh  grass  and 
myrtle  bushes. 

Lydia's  face  clouded  when  she  saw  Basil  set  out  with  Judith. 
Without  a  word  of  apology,  she  turned  abruptly  from  Oswald, 
and  hurried  off  to  her  father.  The  Colonel  was  busy  giving 
orders  to  a  group  of  negroes  about  building  a  fire.  "  Aunt 
Dinah"  stood  near  at  hand,  waiting  to  roast  a  heap  of 
oysters  that  had  just  been  taken  from  the  water.  With  her 
head  thrown  back  and  her  arms  akimbo,  she  was  staring 
mutinously  at  "  Marse  Jose,"  as  Mr.  Josias  Plunkett  was 
called  by  the  negroes,  who  had  just  given  her  minute  in 
structions  on  the  subject.  "  Marse  Jose  "  was  a  fastidious 
epicure  and  considered  himself  an  expert  in  cookery.  He 
had  long  been  Dinah's  pet  aversion,  because  of  his  propen 
sity  for  meddling  in  "  de  kitchen."  As  if  he  could  teach  her 
anything!  She  sniffed  at  him  now,  contemptuously,  and 
but  for  "  Ole  Marster's  "  presence,  would  have  voiced  her 
temper  in  language  objurgatory  and  by  no  means  choice. 
As  it  was,  she  contented  herself  with  muttering  "  Dat  man's 
a  pes'.  Phayroah's  plagues  kain't  hold  a  candle  ter  him. 
Some  day,  I'll  pin  a  dishcloth  to  his  coat-tails — I  boun'  I 
will !  " 

Oswald  was  disconcerted  at  first  by  Lydia's  sudden  de 
sertion  of  him.  Had  he  offended  her  ?  He  could  think  of 
nothing  he  had  done.  Besides,  she  would  have  taken  issue 
with  him  on  the  spot.  She  was  too  frank  and  outspoken  to 


212  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

hide  her  displeasure.  Most  probably,  something  had  sud 
denly  attracted  her  attention,  and  she  had  left  him  hastily, 
without  thinking  to  excuse  herself.  He  was  convinced  that 
this  was  the  true  explanation  when,  a  moment  later,  she  re 
joined  him  and  proposed,  with  an  unembarrassed  air,  that 
they  take  a  stroll  up  the  beach. 

The  fact  was  that,  at  the  moment,  he  was  little  more  than 
a  convenient  makeshift  to  her.  Her  thoughts  were  busy 
with  Judith  and  Basil.  What  were  they  saying  to  each 
other,  as  they  wandered,  yonder,  through  the  hidden  depths 
of  the  wood?  The  episode  in  the  canoe  had  brought 
sharply  home  to  her  the  idea  that  Basil  did  love  her  cousin. 
Perhaps,  he  was  telling  her  so !  She  lent  an  inattentive  ear 
to  Oswald  who  exerted  himself  industriously  to  entertain 
her.  Unconsciously,  she  had  encouraged  Oswald,  of  late,  to 
fancy  that  his  father's  notion  that  she  might  learn  to  care 
for  him  in  spite  of  his  social  disadvantages  was  not  so  im 
probable  as  it  had  seemed.  He  was  the  more  inclined  to  in 
terpret  her  increasing  cordiality  towards  him  in  this  light 
because  of  his  deepening  interest  in  her.  The  charm 
she  had  exerted  from  the  first  grew  stronger  and  stronger 
with  their  growing  intimacy.  He  had  fully  made  up  his 
mind  by  this  time  that  she  was  beautiful — very  beautiful — 
with  a  fascination  that  defied  analysis,  and  for  that  reason, 
perhaps,  allured  him  the  more.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  ad 
mit  to  himself  that  he  was  in  love.  It  was  the  first  time,  in 
a  long  series  of  affairs,  that  he  had  been  quite  sure.  He 
had  never  been  able  to  reconcile  himself  to  the  thought  of 
devoting  himself  to  any  one  woman — there  were  so  many 
who  were  charming.  But  with  Lydia,  it  seemed  to  him,  he 
could  be  content. 

A  blast  from  a  huge  tin  horn,  blown  with  great  energy  by 
Dinah,  summoned  the  wanderers  to  luncheon.  A  cloth  had 
been  spread  on  a  bit  of  greensward  in  the  shade  of  the  pines. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  213 

The  guests  seated  themselves  about  it,  and  the  meal  began 
amid  a  lively  hum  of  voices.  An  eagle,  poised  high  in  air 
above  the  spot,  watched  the  proceedings  with  some  curi 
osity,  no  doubt,  as  to  the  meaning  of  so  unaccustomed  a 
scene  on  the  lonely  little  island  which  scarcely  ever  knew 
any  human  occupant  save  an  occasional  fisherman. 

The  oysters  proved  to  have  been  roasted  "  just  right,"  and 
many  expressions  of  commendation  were  heard  among  the 
guests.  "  Marse  Jose"  beamed  with  satisfaction,  and  several 
times  glanced  complacently  at  the  Colonel  as  though  to 
say,  "It's  all  my  work;  what  would  you  do  without  me,  I 
wonder !  " 

The  Colonel  had  never  been  in  a  brighter,  more  jovial 
humour.  He  was,  indeed,  as  usually  happened  on  such 
occasions,  the  life  and  soul  of  the  feast.  For  each  of  his 
guests,  he  had  a  pleasant  word  or  two  which  seemed  to  have 
a  special  appropriateness  and  value.  His  choicest  jokes  and 
stories  were  produced  in  due  succession,  and  he  was  always 
on  the  alert  to  help  any  one  who  seemed  at  a  loss  in  express 
ing  an  idea  with  the  words  that  were  needed ;  or,  if  it  were 
a  desperate  case,  with  a  quotation,  more  or  less  pertinent 
but  always  stimulating  and  reassuring,  from  one  of  his  fa 
vourite  poets. 

It  had  been  the  fashion  in  the  Colonel's  youth  for  young 
gentlemen  to  commit  verses  to  memory  in  order  to  be  able  to 
touch  a  sentimental  chord  in  the  breast  of  some  captivating 
fair  one  at  critical  stages  of  a  flirtation.  Poetry  was  part  of 
the  social  equipment  of  every  well-bred  young  planter,  and 
the  Colonel  had  amassed  quite  a  store  of  extracts  from  Pope, 
Moore,  Byron  and  others  which  now  did  duty  in  almost 
every  conceivable  situation.  It  was  really  a  privilege  to  see  the 
Colonel,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  in  the  act  of  reciting  in 
sonorous  voice  and  with  great  impressiveness  to  an  abashed 
but  highly  flattered  young  lady,  or  perhaps,  a  withered  but 


214  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

still  romantic  old  maid — he  was  quite  impartial  in  distributing 
his  attentions — some  couplet  from  "  Lalla  Rookh  "  or  "  Don 
Juan." 

After  the  luncheon,  an  hour  or  two  was  spent  in  talking, 
card-playing  and  flirting  in  the  shady  nooks  of  the  wood. 
The  company  then  re-embarked,  and  the  boats  started  again 
towards  the  mouth  of  the  river.  The  wind  was  still  favour 
able  and  somewhat  stronger,  and  the  little  vessels,  with 
their  spread  of  canvas  apparently  out  of  all  proportion  to 
their  size,  sped  on  at  a  brisker  gait,  dipping  gracefully,  now 
and  then,  until  their  sails  almost  touched  the  water.  The 
sweet  notes  of  a  guitar,  accompanying  an  old-fashioned  air 
from  one  of  the  boats,  or  the  rich  roll  of  a  stirring  chorus 
blended  not  inharmoniously  with  the  low  humming  of  the  wind 
through  the  rigging  and  the  swish  of  the  water  against  the 
sharp  prows  as  they  clove  it,  whirling  long  lines  of  foam  to 
each  side. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  the  outlet  to  the  bay  was 
'reached.  As  the  canoes  swung  round,  in  obedience  to  the 
Colonel's  order  to  put  about,  they  faced  a  broad  expanse  of 
water,  bounded  apparently  by  a  curving  line  of  green  shore, 
which  seemed  a  lake  of  molten  silver  streaked  with  jets  of 
flame  from  the  sunset  blaze.  The  wind  had  fallen  ;  there 
was  only  a  gentle  swell  from  the  bay,  and  the  heaving  bosom 
of  the  river  showed  a  variety  of  tints  like  those  of  shot 
silk — from  ruddy  rose  to  lilac-gray.  A  fleet  of  oyster  ves 
sels,  a  mile  or  more  away,  had  hoisted  lights  which  twinkled 
like  fireflies  in  a  soft  blue  haze. 

As  the  wind  was  now  dead  ahead,  the  canoes  were  forced 
to  take  long  tacks,  and  their  progress  was  slow.  But  no  one 
complained.  Even  Mr.  Plunkett,  impatient  to  get  back  to 
the  Manor  for  his  evening  pipe  and  game  of  chess,  was 
soothed  into  a  more  or  less  grudging  acquiescence  by  the 
soft,  gliding  motion  through  a  balmy  atmosphere  radiant  with 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  215 

the  magic  beauty  of  sky  and  water  at  the  close  of  a  cloudless 
day.  At  a  bend  in  the  river,  a  ruined  windmill  on  a  distant 
bluff  loomed  suddenly  forth  against  the  sky,  its  crumbling 
tower  and  great,  blackened  yards  thrown  into  sharp  relief 
by  a  brilliant  background  of  crimson  and  gold.  At  the  base 
of  the  bluff,  groups  of  cattle  stood  knee-deep  in  water  or 
cropped  the  succulent  marsh  grass  along  the  shore.  A  little 
farther  on,  the  canoes  glided  like  phantoms  past  a  gloomy 
hollow  shaded  by  a  grove  of  rugged  oaks  which  seemed  to 
brood  in  sympathy  with  the  melancholy  of  the  spot. 

The  moon  had  risen  when  the  party  reached  the  Manor. 
Its  amber  light  flooded  the  open  spaces  of  the  garden  and 
cast  its  sheltered  recesses  into  denser  shade.  The  old  house 
twinkled  at  every  window  with  lights,  and  the  merry  notes  of 
a  riddle  greeted  the  returning  guests  with  the  strains  of  a  jig. 
The  young  people  instinctively  quickened  their  steps,  and  on 
their  arrival  at  the  house,  did  but  scant  justice  to  the  bounti 
ful  supper  that  awaited  them,  so  eager  were  they  for  the 
dance.  The  parlours  had  been  thrown  into  one  and  lit  up 
brilliantly  with  wax  candles  in  sconces  on  the  walls.  The 
floor  had  been  scrubbed  and  polished  until  it  shone  like  a 
mirror. 

The  Colonel  opened  the  ball  by  leading  out  Judith.  Ole 
Miss  followed  next  with  Basil,  her  dark  eyes  shining  with 
genuine  enjoyment.  It  was  her  habit  always  to  dance  the 
first  quadrille,  and  to  remain  throughout  the  festivities,  keep 
ing  a  watchful  eye  upon  the  proprieties  as  well  as  upon  the 
social  exigencies  of  the  occasion.  There  was  no  need  of 
chaperones  with  her  at  hand,  and  many  a  "  wall-flower " 
was  grateful  to  her  for  harpooning  a  partner  at  a  critical 
moment.  As  for  the  young  men,  they  were  always  ready  to 
do  her  bidding — not  because  they  liked  it,  but  because  it  had 
become  second  nature  to  them.  They  had  been  brought  up 
in  the  fear  of  Ole  Miss,  and  disobedience  would  have  seemed 


216  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

to  them  a  kind  of  social  enormity.  The  giddiest  damsel  was 
more  or  less  in  awe  of  her,  and  the  boldest  flirtations  with 
ered  swiftly  under  her  gaze. 

Oswald  Reeve  succeeded  in  anticipating  half  a  dozen 
young  fellows  who  pressed  forward  eagerly  to  secure  Lydia 
for  the  dance,  and  bore  her  off,  with  a  glow  of  triumph,  to 
their  place  in  the  set.  She  might  have  preferred  some  one 
else,  he  argued,  had  she  chosen  ;  it  would  have  been  easy 
for  her  to  find  an  excuse.  It  was  clear  she  was  not  unwilling 
to  distinguish  him  thus  publicly  at  a  gathering  of  people  of 
her  own  class.  He  was  not  alone  in  this  opinion.  Basil 
shared  it,  and  the  discomfited  applicants  grumbled  among 
themselves  at  Lydia's  strange  failure,  as  it  seemed  to  them, 
to  recognise  the  superiority  of  their  claims  over  even  the 
prior  invitation  of  "  old  Reeve's  "  son.  The  fellow  was  get 
ting  above  himself.  True ;  he  had  the  Colonel's  endorse 
ment,  but  he  ought  to  know  enough  to  keep  his  dis 
tance. 

Oswald  soon  perceived  the  hostility  he  had  excited,  and 
set  to  work  cautiously  to  allay  it.  It  would  not  do  to  make 
enemies  unnecessarily.  He  had  had  his  moment  of  success, 
and  it  had  been  very  pleasant :  he  could  afford  to  pay  for 
it  with  little  courtesies  which  might  go  far  towards  strength 
ening  his  position.  For  the  greater  part  of  the  evening,  he 
devoted  himself  industriously  to  the  young  ladies  who  were 
least  sought  after.  Their  mothers  watched  him  with  approv 
ing  eyes,  and  finally,  pronounced  judicially  among  themselves 
in  his  favour. 

"  Who  would  ever  have  imagined  him  to  be  Reeve's 
son  ? "  asked  a  haughty  dame  with  four  homely  daughters 
whom  Oswald  had  led  out,  one  after  the  other,  for  a  dance. 
"  His  manners  are  perfect.  After  all,  his  mother  was  a 
Frisby  !  " 

From  the  lawn  'outside,  a  group  of  negroes  watched  the 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  217 

scene  indoors,  their  woolly  heads  clustered  about  the  open 
windows.  It  was  one  of  their  cherished  privileges  thus  to 
look  on  at  a  dance  and  comment,  not  always  inaudibly,  upon 
the  appearance  of  this  or  that  individual  or  the  various 
episodes  that  excited  their  interest. 

"  Hit  takes  Ole  Marster  ter  fling  er  foot !  "  exclaimed 
Aunt  Sukey  who  had  been  a  famous  dancer  in  her  youth 
and  was  regarded  as  an  authority  on  the  subject.  She  made 
the  assertion  in  an  oracular  tone  while  the  Colonel,  with  the 
quaint  flourishes  of  the  old  school,  was  executing  an  elabo 
rate  pas  seul  before  his  partner,  preparatory  to  "  turning 
corners." 

"  Dat  hit  do,  Aunt  Suke,"  assented  a  young  negro  beau 
who,  however,  affected  a  more  modern  style,  "  he  monst'ous 
limber,  Ole  Marster  is,  en'  no  mistake.  But  dat  kind  er 
dancin's  too  old-timey.  People  don't  fling  dereselves  roun' 
regardlus  now-er-days.  Look  at  Marse  Turlo,  dah,  steppin' 
so  nice  en'  easy  en'  quiet — he's  in  de  fashun." 

"  Marse  Turlo ! "  cried  Aunt  Sukey  contemptuously. 
"  Go  'long,  boy  !  I  don't  call  dat  rale  dancin' ;  hit's  only 
jes'  walkin'  roun'." 

The  negro  fiddlers  presently  struck  up  a  livelier  tune — a 
tune  with  which  all  the  dusky  spectators  were  familiar.  One 
of  the  latter,  intoxicated  by  the  seductive  strains,  began 
to  pat  juba  and  to  sing  softly  in  accompaniment  to  the 
violins.  By  degrees,  the  whole  assemblage  yielded  to  the 
infection.  A  subdued  hum,  a  rhythmic  swaying  of  their 
bodies  testified  to  keen  enjoyment  of  the  melody.  It  was  the 
nearest  approach  to  actual  participation  in  the  merriment 
within  which  they  might  venture  to  permit  themselves. 

Basil  Kent  kept  aloof  from  Lydia.  Her  manner  towards 
him,  since  their  return,  had  been  markedly  cool  and  distant. 
She  seemed  to  be  in  high  spirits,  and  he  thought  sadly  that 
his  presence  at  her  side  would  only  serve  to  cast  a  damper 


2i8  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

upon  her.  He  continued,  therefore,  to  devote  himself  to 
Judith  whom  he  rescued  several  times  from  the  assiduities 
— very  tiresome  to  her — of  Turlo  Cheston.  Towards  the 
close  of  the  evening,  however,  Basil  went  up  to  Lydia  and 
asked  her  for  the  next  dance.  He  fancied  she  could  scarcely 
refuse  him  one  dance,  if  only  for  old  friendship's  sake. 

Lydia  drew  back  with  a  hostile  air. 

"  All  my  dances  were  engaged  long  ago,"  she  said, 
stiffly. 

Basil  turned  from  her  hastily.  It  was  evident  she  meant 
to  repulse  him  ;  perhaps,  to  break  with  him  definitely.  He 
was  not  to  be  permitted  to  approach  her,  even  as  a 
friend.  Why?  Her  manner  towards  Oswald  seemed  to 
furnish  an  almost  explicit  answer.  Oswald  loved  her — that 
was  clear ;  very  probably  she  was  interested  in  him.  What 
ever  her  feeling  for  Oswald  might  be,  it  was  at  least  of 
such  a  nature  as  to  exclude  him,  Basil,  from  her  favour. 
How  could  he  guess  that  she  was  piqued  and  seeking  to 
punish  him  for  _his  tardiness  ?  It  would  have  seemed  to 
him  absurd  that  she  could  be  jealous  of  Judith.  They 
were  merely  friends.  He  was  utterly  unconscious  that  an 
other  meaning  might  be  attached  to  their  evident  intimacy. 
His  love  for  Lydia  was  so  supreme  a  fact  to  him — a  fact  he 
had  made  so  plain  to  her  and  had  not  concealed  from  Judith 
— that  the  idea  of  being  suspected  of  infidelity  had  not 
occurred  to  him  for  a  moment.  Besides,  he  was  used  to 
being  believed,  and  Lydia,  of  all  others,  could  never  doubt 
his  word.  Almost  any  other  man  would  have  seen  his  dan 
ger  ;  he  knew  so  little  of  women  that  he  felt  perfectly  safe. 
Instinctively,  he  drifted  again  to  Judith  who  brightened  at 
his  approach.  He  felt  that  she  was  sure  to  be  kind  to  him. 
He  craved  her  sympathy ;  there  is  no  consolation  sweeter  to 
a  man  rebuffed  by  one  woman,  than  the  tender  graciousness 
of  another — especially  if  she  happen  to  be  charming. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  219 

There  was  a  suspicious  moisture  in  Lydia's  eyes  as  they 
followed  him ;  they  were  quivering  with  unshed  tears. 

"  How  quick  he  was  to  go  back  to  Judith !  "  she  said  to 
herself, indignantly.  "Of  course,  he  asked  me  only  because 
he  thought  he  must.  If  he  had  really  wanted  it,  he  wouldn't 
have  taken  '  no,'  but  would  have  begged  me  a  little  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WHEN  Lydia  awoke  next  morning  after  a  restless  night, 
she  was  vaguely  conscious  of  impending  trouble.  She  felt 
a  strange  disinclination  to  get  up,  and  was  strongly  tempted 
to  turn  over  in  bed  in  the  hope  of  going  to  sleep  again. 
What  it  was  she  had  to  face,  she  could  not  imagine,  but 
she  shrank  instinctively  from  beginning  the  day.  Usually, 
when  she  awoke,  it  was  from  the  dreamless  slumber  of  vigor 
ous  youth,  with  an  eager  desire  to  be  up  and  doing.  Surely, 
life  at  the  Manor  had  not  lost  its  charm.  Of  course  not ;  she 
was  merely  tired  from  dancing  late  into  the  night.  The  sun 
had  risen ;  the  rest  of  the  household  were  astir ;  she  must  not 
loiter.  With  a  sudden  effort,  she  raised  herself  on  one  el 
bow,  thrust  a  small  white  foot  out  from  the  bedclothes,  and 
then  fell  back,  irresolute,  on  her  pillow. 

Her  head  ached.  She  was  even  more  tired  than  she  had 
thought.  What  a  bother  it  would  be  to  dress,  even  though 
she  had  Chloe,  her  maid,  to  help  her.  She  flung  back  the 
tresses  which  had  fallen  in  disorder  about  her  warmly  flushed 
cheeks  with  a  gesture  of  impatience  at  the  thought  of  Chloe. 
She  did  not  want  her  ;  her  presence  would  only  annoy  her  ; 
she  wished  to  be  alone.  Ordinarily,  Chloe  was  most  wel 
come,  for  Lydia  liked  her  to  wait  upon  her,  but  to-day,  she 
was  actually  quivering  with  repugnance  at  the  thought  of  her 
intrusion.  Chloe  was  sure  to  discover  there  was  something 
wrong  with  her.  Perhaps,  she  would  conceive  some  odious 
idea.  Lydia  was  half  inclined  to  lock  the  door  against  her, 
but  before  she  could  reach  a  decision,  Chloe  tapped  lightly, 
and  without  waiting  for  permission,  entered  the  room. 

Chloe  was  a  pretty  quadroon,  slight  and  graceful,  with  del- 

220 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  221 

icate  features,  large,  sloe-black  eyes,  a  laughing  mouth,  and 
a  pure  olive  complexion  warmly  flushed  with  rose.  She  had 
a  shy,  startled  air  that  reminded  one  of  some  wild  creature. 
She  had  been  Lydia's  special  attendant  since  their  earliest 
childhood,  and  was  passionately  fond  of  Young  Miss.  There 
was  a  strong  bond  of  sympathy  between  them  in  their  im 
patience  of  control  and  their  common  love  of  the  woods, 
the  open  air,  the  space  and  freedom  of  the  fields  which,  in 
Chloe,  took  the  form  of  a  passion  for  running  off  now  and 
then  and  wandering  at  will.  The  girl  was  known  among 
the  slaves  as  "  Runaway  Chloe  "  from  this  propensity,  which 
had  doubtless  been  inherited,  her  mother  and  grandmother 
having  exhibited  the  same  trait  which  nothing  could  subdue. 
It  was  not  an  uncommon  trait  among  the  negroes,  and  was 
often  distinctly  marked  in  certain  families.  It  did  not  seem 
to  be  due  so  much  to  a  desire  to  escape  from  bondage  per 
manently — for  it  rarely  happened  that  this  particular  class 
of  runaways  continued  their  flight  for  any  great  distance — 
as  to  an  uncontrollable  thirst  for  temporary  freedom  and  the 
lawless  life  of  the  woods.  It  was  often  the  case,  as  with 
Chloe,  that  the  fugitives  fled  from  those  they  loved  best. 
Chloe,  for  example,  was  never  so  happy  as  when  with  Young 
Miss,  and  yet,  when  the  "  fit,"  as  the  negroes  called  it,  came 
upon  her,  she  forgot  Young  Miss  completely,  and  was  off,  in 
a  flash,  to  the  woods.  As  far  back  as  she  could  remember, 
Lydia  had  imagined  she  understood  her,  and  had  sympa 
thised  with  her.  As  a  tiny  child,  she  had  braved  her  grand 
mother's  wrath  one  day  by  releasing  Chloe  from  a  closet  in 
which  Ole  Miss  had  confined  her  in  punishment  for  running 
off,  and  ever  after  that,  the  grateful  girl  had  been  her  willing 
slave. 

On  entering  the  room,  Chloe  greeted  Young  Miss  brightly, 
and  set  at  once  about  the  preparations  for  her  morning  task. 
The  question  was  decided  for  her,  Lydia  said  to  herself — 


222  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

she  must  get  up.  Springing  out  of  bed,  she  hastened  into  an 
adjoining  room,  where  Chloe  had  made  ready  her  customary 
morning  bath.  The  bath  refreshed  her ;  she  returned  to 
Chloe,  bright  and  smiling.  But,  as  the  girl  flitted  about  her, 
deft  and  noiseless,  she  began  to  grow  nervous  and  irritable. 
Chloe  annoyed  her  inexpressibly.  Lydia  bit  her  lip  with 
vexation,  and  tears  started  to  her  eyes.  It  was  only  by  a 
great  effort  that  she  compelled  herself  to  sit  down  and  sub 
mit  to  Chloe 's  light,  skilful  touch  as  she  combed  and  ar 
ranged  her  hair.  Until  now,  she  had  always  enjoyed  this 
process,  which  affected  her  with  a  drowsy  sense  of  comfort, 
but  this  morning,  it  seemed  as  if  every  muscle  of  her  body 
tingled  with  impatience. 

Chloe  lingered  lovingly  over  her  work.  There  was  noth 
ing  she  liked  so  well  as  to  "  fix "  Young  Miss's  hair.  It 
was  such  beautiful  hair — so  long,  so  thick,  so  fine,  so  rich  in 
colour.  Lydia  was  seated  near  a  window.  A  sunbeam, 
stealing  through  the  half-open  shutter  and  touching  the 
wavy  coil  which  Chloe  was  building  up  on  the  proudly  poised 
head  with  infinite  care,  imparted  to  it  a  warm,  luminous  tint. 
Chloe  uttered  a  soft  sigh  of  admiration.  She  glanced  down 
at  the  lovely  face,  and  a  tender  smile  lit  up  her  own  charm 
ing  countenance.  Her  touch  became,  unconsciously,  even 
softer,  more  caressing.  Young  Miss  was  so  beautiful! 
Chloe's  heart  swelled  with  jealous  love  and  pride.  "  No 
man  is  good  enough  for  her,"  she  murmured  beneath  her 
breath.  A  little  wren  hopped  in  at  the  open  window  from 
his  bower  in  a  climbing  rose  that  reached  the  eaves,  and 
perching  himself  on  the  sill,  looked  on  at  the  scene  with  the 
wisely  critical  but  appreciative  air  of  a  connoisseur  inspecting 
a  masterpiece.  Chloe  nodded  at  him  gaily  as  though  to  say, 
"  You  admire  her,  too ;  you  are  a  gentleman  of  taste,  my 
little  man !  " 

To  Chief's  amazement,  Young  Miss  suddenly  sprang  to 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  223 

her  feet  and  pushed  her  away  almost  roughly,  crying  in  a 
vehement  tone,  "  I  can  stand  this  no  longer  ;  you  worry  me, 
Chloe.  Leave  me — leave  me,  I  say,  this  instant.  " 

Bewildered  at  having  been  repulsed  so  rudely  at  the  very 
moment  when  her  heart  was  overflowing  with  love  for  her 
mistress,  Chloe  bowed  her  head  humbly  and  without  a  word, 
left  the  room.  Outside  the  door,  she  burst  into  tears. 
What  could  have  come  over  Young  Miss  ?  She  had  never 
known  her  to  act  so  strangely. 

Lydia  was  quite  as  much  perplexed.  She  knew  she  was 
capricious,  unreasonable,  out  of  sorts,  but  why  ?  Was  she 
ill  ?  Absurd !  What,  then,  was  the  matter  ?  She  looked 
at  herself  gravely  in  the  glass,  as  if  to  find  an  answer  in 
her  face,  and  was  startled  by  its  look  of  pain.  She  was  suf 
fering  from  something  that  was  obscure  yet  poignant ;  some 
thing  that  lay  hidden  deep  within  her,  that  seemed  to  be 
gripping  her  very  heart.  What  could  it  be  ?  It  was  Basil ! 
The  discovery  flashed  upon  her  suddenly,  and  with  it,  came 
the  vivid  sense  of  her  impressions  of  the  previous  day  and 
night.  Even  his  old  affection  for  her  seemed  dead.  A  few 
weeks  ago,  she  would  merely  have  been  sorry.  Of  course,  it 
would  have  been  a  great  grief  to  her,  but  not  this  pain.  Was  it 
because  of  a  foolish  jealousy  of  Judith,  or  something  more  ? 
She  looked  hastily  away  from  the  mirror,  dreading  the  gaze  of 
her  own  eyes.  Ashamed  of  her  weakness,  she  told  herself, 
angrily,  she  would  cease  to  think  of  him.  The  effort  actually 
changed  the  current  of  her  thoughts  for  the  moment  to 
Chloe.  She  had  been  very  rough  with  her.  The  poor 
girl  loved  her,  and  she  had  driven  her  from  her.  No  doubt, 
she  was  suffering  cruelly.  She  must  find  her  at  once  and 
beg  her  to  forgive  her. 

Without  waiting  to  complete  her  toilette,  Lydia  started  off 
instantly  in  search  of  Chloe.  She  was  not  to  be  found 
in  the  house  or  the  kitchen.  Dinah  informed  her  she 


224  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

had  gone  towards  the  dairy.  Lydia  hurriedly  crossed  the 
kitchen  yard  and  descended  a  rude  stairway  of  stones  to  the 
bottom  of  a  ravine  through  which  ran  a  tiny  stream.  This 
fed  the  dairy,  a  small  brick  building  with  a  paved  area  in 
front,  in  one  corner  of  which  was  a  spring  bricked  up  from 
the  bottom.  On  a  three-legged  stool  beside  the  spring,  sat 
Cynthy,  the  dairy  woman,  smoking  a  corn-cob  pipe,  which 
she  instantly  hid,  at  sight  of  Young  Miss,  in  the  ample  folds 
of  her  striped  cotton  gown.  Cynthy  was  an  inveterate 
smoker  in  secret,  but  she  was  ashamed  of  the  habit,  and 
would  never  permit  herself  to  be  caught  in  the  act  by  any 
of  the  "  fam'ly,  "  if  she  could  help  it. 

Lydia  nodded  a  curt  good-morning  in  reponse  to  her 
salaam,  and  hurrying  into  the  dairy,  found  Chloe  busy 
printing  butter.  With  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  displaying  a 
pair  of  shapely,  dimpled  arms,  she  was  in  the  act  of  pat 
ting  a  ladle-full  of  butter  into  proper  shape  on  the  wooden 
print  which  bore  the  Manor  emblem — a  sheaf  of  wheat. 

Lydia's  sudden  entrance  startled  Chloe.  The  latter  im 
agined  Young  Miss  was  still  angry  with  her,  and  had  fol 
lowed  her  with  some  unfriendly  intention.  Lydia's  evident 
excitement  helped  to  strengthen  Chloe's  conviction.  In  her 
distress  and  agitation,  she  let  the  butter  print  and  paddle 
fall  to  the  floor,  and  clasped  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of 
appeal. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  awk'ard,  little  Mistus,"  she  ex 
claimed,  imploringly.  "  Don't  scold  me  no  mo' ;  I  can't 
bear  it  iromyou." 

11 1  haven't  come  to  scold  you,  you  goose,  but  to  ask  your 
pardon,"  said  Lydia  quickly.  She  was  anxious  to  get 
through  with  her  task  as  soon  as  possible.  It  was  anything 
but  pleasant.  She  hated  to  apologise  to  any  one,  and  Chloe 
was  her  maid.  There  was  the  pride  of  race  as  well  as 
of  class  underlying  her  repugnance.  She  was  a  faulty 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  225 

young  creature  at  best,  and  of  all  her  defects,  her  pride 
which  had  no  real  vanity  in  it,  was  perhaps  the  most  deeply 
rooted,  the  most  ebullient.  Her  look  was  almost  fierce,  and 
Chloe  grew  really  frightened.  There  was  no  telling  what 
Young  Miss  mightn't  do. 

"  Well,  "  cried  Lydia  imperiously,  with  a  stamp  of  her  foot, 
"  are  you  going  to  forgive  me  or  not  ?  Must  I  stand  here 
all  day  ? " 

"  If — if  you  really  want  me,"  stammered  Chloe,  "  I'll  do 
anything  you  say,  little  Mistus.  But  it  ain't  worth  while 
axin'  pardin  uv  me." 

"  But  I  do  ask  you  !  " 

Chloe's  face  brightened ;  she  was  beginning  to  perceive 
that  Lydia  was  repentant  and  meant  what  she  said. 

"  I  know'd  you  didn't  mean  to  hurt  me,"  she  murmured, 
softly. 

"  Then  you  forgive  me  ?     Thank  you,  Chloe." 

She  turned  sharply  on  her  heel  as  she  spoke,  and  hastened 
back  to  her  room.  She  was  in  a  kind  of  fever.  Now  that 
she  had  finished  with  Chloe,  she  fell  to  questioning  herself 
again,  and  try  as  she  would  to  banish  him  from  her  thoughts, 
she  could  not  help  reverting  to  the  change  in  Basil.  Per 
haps,  it  was  her  own  fault.  It  was  barely  possible  she  had 
discouraged  him  by  her  coldness.  It  might  even  be  that  she 
had  driven  him  to  seek  sympathy  of  Judith.  Could  she 
call  him  back  to  her  ?  There  must  be  something  left  of  the 
feeling  he  had  professed  that  day  at  the  spring.  What  if 
she  made  some  slight  advances  ?  They  had  often  had  their 
little  tiffs,  and  she  had  never  hesitated  to  offer  to  "  make 
up  "  when  she  felt  herself  to  be  in  the  wrong.  It  was  dif 
ferent,  now,  and  her  pride  rebelled  at  the  thought  of  seem 
ing  to  contend  with  Judith  for  him.  And  yet 

Well,  it  would  do  no  harm  to  ask  him  to  escort  her  to  a 
fox  hunt  to  which  they  were  invited  for  the  following  day. 
15 


226  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Acting  on  the  impulse  without  much  reflection,  she  sat 
down  and  penned  him  a  hasty  note.  It  was  brief  and  rather 
cool.  There  was  nothing  in  it,  she  argued,  that  committed 
her,  and  yet,  if  he  accepted,  there  would  be  at  least  an  oppor 
tunity  for  her  to  hint  to  him  she  was  not  really  obdurate — 
provided  he  showed  the  least  inclination  to  be  friends  again. 
It  all  depended  on  him.  "  He  can't  expect  me  to  go  down 
on  my  knees  to  him,"  she  said,  with  a  haughty  toss  of  her 
head,  half  repenting  her  invitation. 

Her  note  found  Basil  plunged  in  gloom.  He  had  gone 
home  disheartened.  He  might  have  known  it  ;  what  was  he 
compared  with  Oswald  ?  He  must  face  the  reality  he  had 
dreaded.  But  when  he  read  her  summons,  his  spirits  rose. 
She  cared  a  little  for  him — still.  Reflection  soon  sobered 
him.  Lydia  was  generous  ;  very  probably,  she  felt  some 
compunction  for  her  harshness  of  the  night  before,  and  was 
seeking  to  atone  for  it.  Doubtless,  this  was  all.  His  mod 
esty  made  him  a  stubborn  pessimist  ;  he  could  not  have 
believed  it  possible  that  happiness  was  more  nearly  within 
his  reach  than  it  had  ever  been  before. 

The  sun  had  just  risen  when  he  reached  the  Manor  next 
morning.  Lydia  was  on  the  front  verandah,  awaiting  him. 
Her  horse,  Knight,  had  already  been  brought  from  the 
stable.  He  was  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  verandah, 
ready  for  her  to  mount.  Every  now  and  then,  he  looked 
round  at  her  eagerly,  champing  his  bit,  as  if  asking  why 
they  didn't  start. 

Lydia  greeted  Basil  rather  negligently ;  she  was  anxious 
not  to  show  him  too  much  favour.  There  was  even  a  touch 
of  hostility,  Basil  fancied,  in  her  manner  as  she  stood  lean 
ing,  with  careless  grace,  against  one  of  the  verandah  pillars  ; 
her  eyes  gleamed  threateningly  from  beneath  the  peaked 
vizor  of  her  riding  cap. 

Basil  helped  her  to  mount,   and  they  set  off  in  a  canter. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  227 

For  several  miles,  they  exchanged  scarcely  more  than  half  a 
dozen  words.  Each  laid  the  blame  upon  the  other.  "  He 
doesn't  care  to  talk  to  me,"  said  Lydia  to  herself,  bitterly. 
"  He'd  be  glib  enough  with  Judith."  "  If  I  were  Oswald," 
thought  Basil,  "  she  would  be  rattling  along  gaily."  The 
two  were  wholly  at  cross-purposes  ;  each  was  held  in  check 
by  a  growing  conviction  of  the  other's  indifference.  Instead 
of  closing,  the  rift  between  them  was  widening  through  the 
very  means  Lydia  had  employed  in  the  hope  of  winning 
Basil  back  to  her.  "  I  might  have  spared  myself  my  pains," 
she  said,  beneath  her  breath,  with  an  angry  glance  at  him. 
His  silence  mortified  her  ;  apparently,  he  hadn't  the  least 
desire  to  please  her.  It  was  clear  to  Basil,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  her  summons  meant  nothing  more  than  a  grudg 
ing  effort  to  make  amends. 

Both  of  them  felt  relieved  when  they  reached  the  rendez 
vous  for  the  hunt — the  residence,  some  five  miles  distant,  of 
Captain  Montgomery  Bludsoe,  a  noted  fox-hunter.  Judith, 
attended  by  Turlo,  had  already  arrived,  and  the  party  was 
now  complete.  Grouped  together  in  the  middle  of  the  front 
lawn,  the  company  awaited  the  word  from  the  Captain  who 
officiated,  by  common  consent,  as  master  of  the  hunt.  The 
mounts  were  all  blooded  animals  of  famous  hunting  stock. 
A  pack  of  hounds,  held  in  leash  by  an  old  negro,  were  leaping 
and  yelping  joyously  in  anticipation  of  the  sport. 

Captain  Bludsoe  was  a  ruddy,  grizzled  old  fellow  of  great 
stature  and  proportionate  bulk.  Seated  on  a  raw-boned  but 
powerful  sorrel  mare,  he  rode  from  point  to  point,  giving 
orders  in  loud,  curt  tones  to  half  a  dozen  negroes  who 
were  busy  with  the  preparations  for  the  start — examining 
bridles,  tightening  girths,  testing  stirrup  straps  so  that  there 
should  be  no  mishaps  to  the  riders  during  the  hunt.  The 
Captain's  appearance  and  get-up  were  in  keeping  with  the 
general  aspect  of  his  home — that  is  to  say,  decidedly  batter- 


228  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

ed  and  down  at  the  heel.  His  dress  was  rough  and  careless  ; 
his  manners  quite  as  much  so  except  when  he  addressed  a 
lady.  Towards  the  fair  sex,  he  was  always  clumsily  def 
erential,  and  the  oaths  with  which,  even  in  their  presence, 
he  could  not  refrain  from  interlarding  his  remarks,  were  the 
choicest  in  his  vocabulary. 

The  house  in  which  he  had  kept  bachelor's  hall  for  at 
least  half  a  century,  was  a  dilapidated  wooden  structure, 
originally  painted  yellow,  but  now  a  dingy  gray.  The  lawn 
was  a  dismal  waste,  overgrown  with  briars  and  weeds.  The 
entire  estate  had  a  forlorn,  uncared-for  appearance,  and  the 
name  the  Captain  had  bestowed  upon  it — "  Mount  Misery  " 
— seemed  not  inappropriate.  In  point  of  fact,  however, 
there  was  no  jollier,  more  hospitable  establishment  in  the 
neighbourhood.  The  Captain  kept  open  house  for  his  friends, 
and  the  neglected  condition  of  the  place  was  due  to  his 
passionate  absorption  in  the  pleasures  of  the  chase  ;  of  cock- 
fighting,  horse-racing,  card-playing  and  kindred  diversions. 
In  his  younger  days,  he  had  been  a  noted  duellist,  and  even 
now,  though  verging  upon  seventy  years  of  age,  he  would 
have  "gone  out "  upon  the  smallest  provocation. 

The  Captain  at  length  gave  the  word,  and  hounds  and 
horses  started  off  together.  On  reaching  a  wood  which 
skirted  the  edge  of  the  cultivated  land,  the  hounds  scented 
a  fox,  and  soon,  the  silent  arches  of  the  forest  rang  with 
their  baying.  The  fox,  hard  pressed,  abandoned  the  wood 
and  made  for  the  open  towards  the  river  where  he  had  his 
earth  in  the  face  of  a  bluff.  Following  close  behind  him, 
his  pursuers  found  themselves  in  one  of  the  pasture  fields 
of  the  Manor.  Except  for  a  fence,  there  was  an  unbroken 
stretch  before  them  to  the  river  bank.  Basil  and  Oswald 
had  now  gone  to  the  front,  neck  and  neck,  with  Lydia  not 
far  behind.  The  rest  of  the  party  were  some  distance  away, 
strung  out  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  more.  Basil  and 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  229 

Oswald  soon  gained  on  Lydia  who  pulled  in  Knight,  wish 
ing  to  leave  them  the  finish.  It  was  a  close  race  be 
tween  them.  First  one,  then  the  other  was  slightly  ahead. 
Suddenly,  the  fence  rose  before  them.  It  was  a  high 
worm  fence  with  a  deep  ditch  on  the  farther  side.  In 
stinctively,  Oswald  checked  his  horse  ;  he  took  it  for 
granted  Basil  would  halt  to  remove  a  rail  or  two — the  leap 
was  too  dangerous.  But  Basil's  blood  was  up.  The  excite 
ment  of  the  chase  had  roused  in  him  a  spirit  of  recklessness 
against  which  he  had  been  struggling  ever  since  he  had 
begun  to  fear  that  Lydia  was  learning  to  care  for  Oswald. 
It  was  foolish,  of  course,  but  he  could  not  repress  a  fierce 
desire  to  beat  Oswald.  The  fire  that  burned  beneath  his 
usually  quiet  demeanour  burst  forth  in  a  flame.  His  face 
was  alight  with  eagerness  ;  his  gray  eyes  gleamed.  He  took 
the  leap  without  pausing,  and  landed  safe  on  the  other  side. 
In  a  moment,  he  had  left  Oswald  hopelessly  behind. 

Oswald  fancied  Lydia  was  still  near  at  hand ;  he  did  not 
wish  her  to  think  him  timid.  What  Basil  had  done,  he  could 
do.  Putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  braced  himself  for  the 
spring.  The  gallant  brute  responded  grandly,  but  he  had 
lost  his  momentum.  His  heels  just  failed  to  clear  the 
top  rail,  and  stumbling,  he  tumbled  headlong  into  the 
ditch,  breaking  his  neck  and  burying  his  rider  beneath 
him. 

Basil  continued  on  his  way,  ignorant  that  Oswald  had  at 
tempted  to  follow.  He  succeeded  in  capturing  the  fox  and 
turned  back  in  triumph  yet  somewhat  ashamed  of  himself 
for  having  yielded  to  what  he  now  felt  to  be  a  hasty  impulse, 
a  bit  of  rashness  that  might  have  resulted  in  disaster.  On 
nearing  the  fence,  he  found  the  whole  party  assembled  in  a 
group  about  a  figure  lying  prone  on  the  grass.  Greatly 
alarmed,  he  urged  his  tired  horse  into  a  gallop,  and  coming 
up,  saw  that  the  fallen  rider  was  Oswald.  One  of  the  hunts- 


230  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

men,  a  physician,  was  bending  over  him  with  a  grave, 
anxious  air. 

"  Two  ribs  broken,"  he  said,  "there  seems,  also,  to  be 
a  serious  fracture  of  the  leg,  and  he  may  be  hurt  inter 
nally." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  murmured  a  low  voice,  almost  at  Basil's 
elbow.  He  looked  round  quickly,  and  saw  Lydia  gazing 
down  at  Oswald.  She  was  very  pale,  and  tears  glistened  in 
her  eyes. 

"  She  loves  him  !  "  Basil  said  to  himself,  with  a  groan. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WHEN  Oswald  recovered  consciousness,  he  found  himself 
in  one  of  the  guest  chambers  at  the  Manor.  The  physician 
was  at  his  bedside  waiting  to  question  him.  Near  by,  stood 
the  Colonel,  his  kindly  face  clouded ;  he  feared  the  worst 
for  his  prote'ge.  It  was  too  bad  so  fine  a  young  fellow 
should  be  smashed  up  in  this  way.  But  Oswald's  answers 
to  the  surgeon's  interrogatories  were  reassuring,  and  the 
Colonel's  face  brightened  as  the  Doctor  exclaimed, 

"  You  have  got  off  better  than  I  hoped.  With  good  luck 
and  good  nursing,  you'll  pull  through  all  right." 

"  I  can  promise  him  good  nursing,"  said  the  Colonel 
cheerily,  "  my  mother's  a  famous  hand  at  that,  as  you  know, 
Doctor.  We  mean  to  keep  you  here,"  he  added,  with  a  nod 
to  Oswald,  "  until  you  are  strong  enough  for  another  hunt. 
But  no  more  leaps  like  that." 

Oswald  flushed  with  pleasure.  How  delightful  to  be  an 
invalid  here — near  Lydia  all  the  time ;  the  object,  doubtless, 
of  solicitous  interest  on  her  part,  with  many  opportunities 
for  seeing  her  alone  !  The  accident  was  really  a  piece  of 
luck.  He  could  well  afford  a  few  broken  bones  in  exchange 
for  the  rare  good  fortune  of  living  for  a  month  or  more  on 
terms  of  intimacy  at  the  Manor. 

Weeks  passed,  by  no  means  tediously,  with  punctual  min 
istrations  by  Ole  Miss,  frequent  visits  from  the  Colonel, 
Mr.  Plunkett  and  Turlo,  and  a  daily  message  of  inquiry  from 
Lydia.  At  last,  Oswald  grew  strong  enough  to  hobble  about 
the  house  and  grounds  with  the  aid  of  a  cane.  Lydia,  re 
membering  his  conduct  on  the  steamer,  devoted  herself  to 
him  assiduously.  Basil,  who  called  frequently  to  assure 

231 


232  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

himself  of  Oswald's  continued  improvement,  found  in  her 
untiring  attentions  strong  confirmation  of  his  fears.  Judith 
encouraged  his  delusion.  Her  manner  towards  him  was 
tenderly  sympathetic,  as  though  she  wished  to  condole  with 
him.  To  Lydia,  she  always  spoke  of  Basil  with  a  cool  air 
of  appropriation,  as  if  he  now  belonged  exclusively  to  her. 
Lydia  was  disheartened,  and  suffered  from  a  keen  sense  of 
inferiority.  It  was  not  Judith's  beauty,  nor  her  charm  of 
manner,  nor  even  the  tact  with  which  she  managed  Basil 
that  made  her  seem  to  Lydia  so  formidable.  These  were 
dangerous  enough,  to  be  sure,  but  they  were  weapons  she 
might  hope  to  parry.  What  troubled  her  most  of  all  was 
the  fact  that  Judith  knew  so  much  more  than  she  did,  and 
could  talk  to  Basil  of  an  infinite  variety  of  things  of  which 
she,  Lydia,  had  scarcely  even  heard.  She  was  not  only 
clever,  but,  to  Lydia's  mind,  an  adept  in  kinds  of  knowledge 
which,  she  fancied,  would  appeal  most  strongly  to  him. 
Basil  had  always  been  a  good  deal  more  studious  than  she 
liked;  she  had  often  teased  him  to  leave  a  book.  Of 
course,  when  he  and  Judith  set  off  on  one  of  their  intellec 
tual  excursions  together,  he  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  ! 
And  she  was  left  behind,  smarting  with  a  bitter  sense  of  ex 
clusion.  What  wonder  Basil  preferred  Judith  to  her  ?  How 
ignorant,  how  stupid  she  must  seem  to  him,  now  1 

"  And  yet,  I  don't  think  I  am  naturally  a  dunce,"  said  the 
poor  child  to  herself  with  a  spark  of  her  old  pride  which  had 
greatly  diminished  of  late. 

With  the  hope  of  raising  herself  from  so  ignominious  a 
state,  she  appealed  to  Miss  Twiggs  to  assist  her  in  a  course 
of  reading.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  agreeable  to 
that  conscientious  person  who  was  distressed  at  finding  so 
little  to  do.  At  Lydia's  suggestion,  they  began  with  Shake 
speare's  plays.  She  had  noticed  that  Judith  was  very 
strong  in  Shakespeare.  In  the  course  of  her  education 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  233 

as  an  actress,  Judith  had  studied  Shakespearian  roles,  but 
Lydia,  of  course,  had  no  suspicion  of  this  fact. 

Lydia  found  it  terribly  hard  work  at  first.  The  narrative 
interested  her  deeply,  but  the  definitions  of  words,  the 
analyses  of  sentences  to  which  Miss  Twiggs  held  her  relent 
lessly  were  so  tedious.  " I  feel,"  she  declared  one  day,  "as 
if  I  were  pulling  a  beautiful  flower  to  pieces."  There  were 
times  when  the  task  became  almost  insupportable  ;  when 
she  could  scarcely  resist  the  impulse  to  fling  down  her  book 
and  start  off  for  a  gallop  on  Knight  or  a  ramble  in  the 
fragrant  woods.  A  bit  of  blue  sky  seen  from  her  window, 
the  song  of  a  bird,  the  music  of  the  wind  in  the  trees — any 
one  of  a  hundred  sights  and  sounds  inviting  her  forth — filled 
her  with  a  wild  longing  to  escape  the  self-imposed  drudgery, 
but  she  always  set  her  little  teeth  hard  together  and  contin 
ued  to  peg  away,  doggedly  bent  on  catching  up  with  Judith 
— in  Shakespeare,  at  least.  But  it  was  dreadfully  tire 
some  and  slow.  Would  she  ever  catch  up  ? 

Lydia's  attentions  greatly  stimulated  Oswald's  hopes  for 
a  time.  He  discovered  at  last,  however,  that  he  had  made 
little  if  any  progress  with  her  beyond  a  merely  friendly  re 
lation.  She  continued  to  be  most  kind  and  solicitous  of  his 
comfort,  reading  or  chatting  with  him  under  the  trees  by 
the  hour  and  playing  checkers,  chess  or  backgammon  with 
exemplary  patience.  Oswald  found  it  delightful  to  be  min 
istered  to  and  amused  by  her,  but  her  very  friendliness,  free 
from  all  embarrassment  or  reserve,  acted  as  a  check  upon 
him.  He  began  to  fear  that  she  thought  of  him  only  as  a 
pleasant  companion. 

There  was  a  change,  too,  in  her  manner  that  caused  him 
serious  uneasiness.  The  gay  impetuousness,  which  had 
been  so  marked  a  characteristic  of  her  bearing  in  the  earlier 
days  of  their  acquaintance,  had  vanished.  She  had  become 
strangely  gentle  and  subdued.  At  times,  he  even  imagined 


234  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

she  was  sad — she  who  had  been  so  gay  and  laughter-loving 
— and  once  or  twice,  he  was  almost  sure  that  her  eyes  were 
wet  with  tears.  What  had  caused  the  change  ?  An  inci 
dent  of  the  closing  days  of  his  stay  supplied  an  unlooked- 
for  answer  to  his  question. 

Oswald  had  some  literary  taste,  of  the  dilettante  kind,  and 
was  particularly  fond  of  delving  among  old  records  and 
family  papers.  No  occupation  had  a  greater  charm  for 
him  than  that  of  building  up,  bit  by  bit,  from  material 
obtained  in  this  way,  a  picture  of  the  long-buried  past.  The 
Colonel,  discovering  his  penchant,  suggested  that  there 
might  be  much  to  interest  him  in  the  "  lumber  room  "  in 
the  garret,  where  a  quantity  of  old  documents  were  stored. 
Oswald  found  the  "  lumber  room  "  a  fascinating  spot,  and 
fell  into  the  habit  of  spending  an  hour  or  two  there  every  day. 

It  was  a  very  large  room,  covering  nearly  the  entire  floor 
space  of  the  main  building.  The  steeply  slanting  roof 
showed  its  rafters  and  the  sheathing  of  shingles  untouched 
by  paint.  The  large  dormer  windows  looked  out  upon  a 
zigzag  line  of  roofs,  thickly  coated  with  moss,  and  upon 
chimneys  of  various  heights  and  dimensions.  Huge  locust 
trees  waved  their  scraggy  branches  almost  against  the  win 
dow  panes,  and  Lombardy  poplars  reared  their  shining  green 
leafage  above  the  tallest  of  the  chimneys.  A  circular  win 
dow  in  the  front  gable  commanded  a  view  of  the  lane,  with  its 
avenue  of  elms ;  a  square  window,  at  the  opposite  end  of 
the  room,  afforded  glimpses  of  the  garden,  the  Quarter,  the 
overseer's  house,  with  the  cove  in  the  distance. 

Oswald  seated  himself  one  afternoon  in  an  old  armchair 
of  colonial  pattern,  upholstered  in  faded  red  velvet,  in  one  of 
the  dormer  recesses,  and  was  soon  absorbed  in  examining  a 
package  of  letters  which  revealed  a  touching  romance  of  the 
Cheston  family  during  the  Protestant  Revolution  of  1689. 
The  floor  in  front  of  him  was  strewn  with  a  great  variety  of 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  235 

objects — bits  of  rare  China ;  broken  articles  of  furniture  ; 
old,  worm-eaten  books ;  piles  of  yellow  title-deeds,  mortgages, 
letters  ;  heaps  of  laces,  silks  and  velvets,  the  remains  of 
clothing  which  had  adorned  the  person  of  some  beau  or 
belle  of  the  family  in  olden  days.  From  rusty  nails  driven 
into  one  of  the  rafters,  hung  three  suits  of  military  uniform, 
each  representing  a  period  of  army  service.  One  of  them 
was  the  scarlet  and  buff  of  the  Maryland  "  macaronis  "  dur 
ing  the  Revolution.  Another  was  the  militia  colonel's  regi 
mentals  worn  by  our  Colonel's  father,  the  Judge,  in  the  War 
of  1812.  The  third,  of  much  more  modern  pattern,  was  the 
dragoon  suit  which  the  Colonel  himself  had  donned  upon 
his  promotion  to  a  captaincy  at  the  close  of  the  last  cam 
paign  against  Osceola,  the  noted  Seminole  chief. 

There  was  scarcely  an  object  in  the  room  which  did  not 
possess  some  interest  for  Oswald  in  the  associations  it 
suggested.  The  silks  and  velvets  and  laces,  for  example, 
called  up  vividly  the  scenes  of  colonial  times — the  stately 
minuets  in  the  parlours  downstairs ;  the  formal  water  parties 
in  large  bateaux,  propelled  by  negro  oarsmen,  which  were 
also  used  in  making  visits  of  ceremony  at  neighbouring  plan 
tations  ;  the  foppish  audiences  in  the  tiny  theatre  of  quaint 
old  Annapolis,  the  provincial  capital,  which  was  visited  fre 
quently  by  strolling  players  ;  the  groups  of  brilliant  youths 
and  maidens  moving  with  slow,  measured  tread  over  the 
lawn  or  along  the  shady,  fragrant  paths  of  the  garden.  But 
the  chief  interest  for  him  lay  in  the  collection  of  letters,  and 
as  he  slowly  deciphered  the  faded  characters  which  told  the 
romance  upon  which  he  had  stumbled,  he  was  brought  close 
in  sympathy  to  the  poor  ghosts  who,  in  the  flesh,  had  traced 
the  lines  which  had  secured  to  them  a  chance  resurrection. 
How  plainly  they  were  brought  to  life  again  by  their  un 
conscious  disclosures  1  A  single  sentence,  in  some  instances, 
presented  an  individuality  with  all  its  distinguishing  traits — 


236  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

its  weaknesses,  its  faults,  its  prejudices,  or  perhaps,  its  worthy, 
lovable  qualities — in  clear  outline.  So  real  were  some  of 
the  images,  limned  with  a  naively  graphic  power,  that 
Oswald  almost  fancied  he  could  see  the  originals  before 
him.  He  drifted  away  into  a  state  of  abstraction,  and  at 
a  slight  noise  in  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  started  nerv 
ously,  as  though  a  ghostly  hand  had  touched  him. 

Glancing  round,  he  beheld,  not  a  ghost,  but  Lydia  stand 
ing  at  the  gable  window  which  looked  down  upon  the  gar 
den.  Evidently,  she  had  not  seen  him.  Seated  in  the  re 
cess,  he  was  concealed  from  anyone  entering  the  room. 
Oswald  rose,  intending  to  make  his  presence  known.  As  he 
did  so,  he  was  startled  by  a  sob.  He  advanced  towards 
her  slowly,  thinking  to  give  her  time  to  hide  the  traces  of 
her  tears.  At  the  sound  of  his  footsteps,  Lydia  turned 
hastily,  making  no  effort  to  conceal  the  fact  that  she  was 
weeping.  In  her  eyes,  there  was  a  gleam  of  joy,  as  of  sun 
shine  struggling  through  a  cloud.  The  moment  she  saw 
Oswald,  the  light  died  out  of  them,  and  she  hung  her  head 
with  a  look  of  acute  disappointment. 

"  Oh  it  is  you,  Mr.  Reeve  ?  "  she  murmured,  scarcely  know 
ing  what  she  said,  "  I  thought  it  was  Basil." 

Oswald  halted  abruptly,  and  stood  gazing  at  her  with  a 
look  of  blank  consternation.  Her  words,  interpreting  her 
sudden  change  of  countenance,  threw  a  vivid  light  on  the 
situation.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to  mistake  their  mean 
ing.  He  knew,  as  well  as  if  she  had  told  him,  that  she 
would  have  welcomed  Basil  in  a  manner  very  different  from 
her  greeting  to  him.  When  she  had  looked  around,  it  had 
been  in  the  eager  confidence  that  he  was  Basil :  her  evident 
disappointment  was  a  crushing  blow  to  his  hopes.  Why 
had  she  mistaken  him  for  Basil  ?  Could  it  be  that  she  had 
expected  to  meet  Basil  here,  and  had  burst  into  tears  be 
cause  he  had  failed  to  keep  the  appointment ? 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  237 

Oswald,  of  course,  could  not  guess  that  Lydia  had  come 
to  the  "  lumber  room  "  merely  because  it  was  associated  in 
her  mind  with  pleasant  memories  of  Basil.  Here,  as  a  child, 
she  had  spent  many  a  happy  hour  with  him,  rummaging 
among  the  contents  of  the  trunks  or  reading  the  old  let 
ters  and  weaving  quaint  fancies  out  of  them.  The  very 
atmosphere  of  the  garret  recalled  to  her  delightful  im 
pressions  during  the  hours  they  had  thus  spent  together. 
The  close,  musty,  yet  not  unpleasant  smell  of  the  place ; 
the  sunbeams  which  fell  athwart  the  rafters  in  golden 
shafts  which  sparkled  with  tiny  particles  of  dust ;  the  bees 
and  wasps  buzzing  against  the  window  panes  ;  the  swallows 
flitting  about  the  chimneys  outside — all  helped  to  bring  the 
past  before  her  in  a  mellower  light  and  to  intensify  the 
vague,  undefinable  romance  of  her  associations  with  the 
spot.  The  feeling  that,  perhaps,  it  was  all  ended;  that 
Basil  was  no  longer  a  factor  in  her  life ;  that  he  had  ceased 
to  take  any  interest  in  her,  affected  her  with  a  keener  sense 
of  pain.  A  convulsive  tremor  shook  her ;  her  eyes  were 
suddenly  flooded  with  tears. 

On  hearing  Oswald  move  from  his  post,  her  heart  had 
throbbed  wildly  from  the  conviction  that  Basil  must  have 
followed  her  from  the  hall  where  she  had  left  him  talking 
with  Judith.  Why  should  he  leave  Judith  and  follow  her, 
especially  to  this  spot  so  dear  to  both  of  them  once,  if  not 
to  say  something  to  her  in  which  Judith  had  no  part  ?  Could 
it  be  that  he  still  thought  of  her,  after  all  ?  It  was  a  rude 
awakening  when  she  recognised  Oswald,  whose  frequent 
visits  to  the  "  lumber  room  "  she  had  quite  forgotten.  She 
stood  with  bowed  head,  ashamed  of  having  shown  her 
secret  distress  to  him.  She  was  spared  the  greater  pain  of 
knowing  that  he  suspected  its  cause. 

Oswald  murmured  some  lame  excuse,  and  hurried  from 
the  room.  Evidently,  she  cared  for  Basil,  but  was  her  grief 


238  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

due  to  love  or  merely  to  wounded  affection  and  pique  ? 
Of  course,  she  was  jealous  of  Judith.  Oswald  had  seen 
that  clearly  enough  for  some  days.  No  doubt,  that  was  the 
reason  she  had  turned  to  him.  What  an  idiot  he  had  been  ! 
But  not  half  such  an  idiot  as  Basil.  What  could  the  fellow 
be  thinking  of  to  spend  so  much  of  his  time  with  Judith  ? 
He  had  watched  him  closely,  hoping  to  find  that  he  had  lost 
his  heart  to  her.  Nothing  of  the  kind  ;  there  was  never  a 
symptom  of  love.  When  Lydia  came  near  him,  passion 
leaped  into  his  eyes.  How  simple  of  Basil  to  imagine  that 
he  and  Judith  could  be  such  friends  without  exciting  Lydia's 
resentment.  And  Judith  herself — did  he  think  he  was 
going  to  escape  from  her  unscathed  ?  Oswald  knew  her 
type ;  she  was  sure  to  make  things  lively  for  Basil,  some 
day.  Perhaps,  she  had  consciously  irritated  Lydia — women 
had  a  way  of  doing  such  things — and  made  her  fancy  she 
was  more  interested  in  Basil  than  she  really  was.  Well,  it 
was  in  his  power  to  learn  the  state  of  her  heart.  He 
had  but  to  force  from  Basil  an  avowal  of  the  political  opinions 
which  his  father  attributed  to  him.  That  would  be  a  con 
clusive  test.  If  Lydia  did  not  love  him,  she  would  break 
with  him  at  once.  If  she  did  love  him,  she  would  condone 
his  offence,  for  it  would  be  a  very  grave  offence  in  her  eyes 
to  array  himself  on  the  other  side.  Her  political  prejudices, 
as  Oswald  had  learned,  were  as  intense  as  his  father  had 
asserted,  and  when  a  woman's  prejudices  are  silent,  her 
passion  speaks.  In  any  event,  he  would  discredit  Basil 
with  her  family  ;  if  his  father  was  not  mistaken,  he  might 
make  it  impossible  for  her,  even  if  she  loved  him,  to  have 
any  further  intercourse  with  him. 

Yes,  he  must  sacrifice  Basil.  There  was  no  hope  for  him 
so  long  as  she  was  free  to  indulge  even  her  affection  for  her 
old  companion.  He  must  drive  Basil  wholly  from  the  range 
of  her  sympathy,  her  interest.  It  was  possible  she  would 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  239 

then  listen  to  him.  He  was  as  keenly  conscious  as  at  first 
of  the  meanness  of  such  conduct  towards  the  friend  who  was- 
still  kind  to  him,  who  of  late,  as  formerly  at  college,  had 
helped  him  socially  ;  but  had  it  been  infamous  instead  of 
merely  ungrateful  and  shabby,  he  would,  perhaps,  have  per 
sisted  in  it.  He  loved  this  girl  with  a  passion  that  surprised 
him.  All  the  artificialities  of  thought  and  feeling  which  he 
had  cultivated  so  sedulously  disappeared  in  her  presence, 
and  he  felt  the  impulses  only  of  the  natural  man.  The  coat 
ing  of  gentility  had  peeled  off  utterly ;  he  stood  revealed  to 
himself  as  his  father's  son  might  be  expected  to  be,  a  man 
to  whom  nothing — not  gratitude,  nor  honour,  nor  even  love 
itself — appealed  so  strongly  as  desire. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

OSWALD'S  father  was  bitterly  chagrined  when  he  learned  of 
the  episode  in  the  garret.  He  had  been  a  daily  visitor  at 
the  Manor  since  the  accident,  and  of  late,  had  grown  very 
confident  as  to  Lydia's  feeling  for  Oswald.  He  often  saw 
them  together,  and  her  manner  towards  Oswald  seemed  to  the 
observant  lawyer,  skilled  in  reading  human  motives  and  im 
pulses,  to  be  distinctly  encouraging.  Even  more  significant, 
to  his  mind,  was  her  treatment  of  himself.  She  was  no 
longer  cold  and  formal  as  she  had  always  been,  to  his  great 
annoyance,  but  friendly,  kind  and  almost  cordial,  just  as 
though  she  had  come  to  regard  him  in  the  light  of  a  prob 
able  father-in-law.  He  often  exulted  in  the  thought  that  he 
might  soon  be  able  to  call  the  capricious  little  aristocrat,  who 
held  her  head  so  high  and  yet  could  be  so  sweet  and  gracious, 
his  daughter.  What  a  triumph  to  be  able  to  say  to  her,  "  My 
dear,  I  own  the  Manor  ;  it  is  my  wedding  present  to  you  and 
Oswald  !  "  He  had  never  been  so  hopeful  of  reaching  his 
goal.  The  Colonel,  as  well  as  Lydia,  was  kind  to  him.  His 
manner  was  no  longer  patronising ;  for  the  first  time  in  their 
intercourse,  he  treated  him  as  his  equal.  How  could  he 
guess  that  Oswald's  misfortune  had  leveled  distinctions  for 
both  the  Colonel  and  his  daughter;  that  they  were  con 
siderate  of  him  merely  for  his  son's  sake  ?  It  was  a  delight 
to  him  to  be  at  the  Manor,  to  look  about  him  with  the  sense 
of  coming  proprietorship,  to  feel  that  he  would  soon  be  vir 
tually  master  there. 

At  first,  he  insisted  that  Oswald  must  be  mistaken  ;  it 
wasn't  possible  Lydia  preferred  so  dull  a  fellow  as  Basil. 

240 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  241 

When,  at  length,  he  was  forced  to  yield  to  his  son's  reason 
ing  and  admit  that  there  might  be  something  in  it,  he  began 
to  feel  vicious.  Had  she  been  trifling  with  him  all  this  time  ? 
It  was  intolerable  to  think  she  might  have  been  merely  mock 
ing  him  and  laughing  in  her  sleeve.  And  yet,  it  would  be 
only  what  her  class  had  always  done.  He  had  so  often  been 
their  butt  when  they  were  not  using  him.  He  would  show 
her  his  power  !  If  she  really  cared  for  Basil,  so  much  the 
worse  for  her.  Unless  his  shrewdness  was  utterly  at  fault, 
he  would  raise  a  barrier  between  them  which  even  love 
could  not  overstep.  He  would  compromise  Basil  in  the 
eyes  of  her  family,  of  her  friends,  and  even  in  her  own  eyes. 
His  apostasy,  as  she  would  regard  it,  meant  ineffable  dis 
grace.  It  would  make  her  love,  if  it  existed,  a  cause  of  re 
proach  and  pain.  She  would  never  be  able  to  think  of  Basil 
save  with  shame  at  her  weakness. 

A  more  urgent  motive  strengthened  his  purpose.  It  was 
of  the  first  importance  to  him,  pecuniarily,  to  prevent  Basil 
from  marrying  the  Colonel's  daughter.  If  he  became  the 
Colonel's  son-in-law,  Basil  would  undoubtedly  look  closely 
into  the  Manor  affairs,  and  that  meant  the  discovery  of  the 
lawyer's  long  series  of  peculations.  Exposure  would  not 
only  render  him  liable  for  a  large  amount  of  money,  but 
would  ruin  him  in  the  community.  Other  doubtful  transac 
tions  might  be  brought  to  light,  and  criminal  proceedings, 
even,  might  be  instituted  against  him.  Breaches  of  trust, 
spoliation  of  widows  and  orphans,  sharp  practices  on  unsus 
picious  clients  are  things  that  may  be  covered  up  by  success 
but  are  apt  to  crop  out  inconveniently  when  suspicion  is  once 
excited.  Reeve  had  never  thought  of  Basil  as  a  possible  ob 
stacle  in  his  designs  upon  the  Manor ;  he  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  consider  him  harmless  inasmuch  as,  during  all 
these  years,  he  had  never  caused  him  any  trouble  with  the 
Colonel.  He  was  a  new  element  in  his  problem,  and  one 
16 


242  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

that  must  be  eliminated  at  any  cost.     It  was  a  matter  of  self- 
preservation,  perhaps,  to  suppress  him  at  once. 

The  opportunity  only  was  lacking,  and  this  was  soon  pro 
vided  by  a  dinner  which  the  Colonel  gave  to  some  of  the 
officers  of  his  battalion  of  militia.  Thus  far,  the  battalion 
had  not  played  the  part  in  the  contest  which,  for  nearly 
three  months,  had  been  raging  between  the  North  and  the 
South,  that  the  Colonel  had  hoped  for.  Tidewater  Maryland 
was  remote  from  the  theatre  of  military  operations ;  it  was 
only  along  the  Potomac  that  any  glimpses  of  the  struggle 
were  obtained,  and  these  were  not  of  actual  conflicts  but 
merely  of  the  movements  of  troops.  The  upland  region  of  the 
State  was  destined  to  be  the  scene  of  sanguinary  battle,  but 
almost  the  whole  of  the  Tidewater  region  remained  undis 
turbed  by  more  than  the  dull  reverberation  of  war.  Apart 
from  all  the  excitement,  the  bustle,  the  fury  of  men  in  the 
death-grip  of  bloody  combat  on  its  borders,  it  preserved  its 
characteristic  quiet  ruffled  only  by  the  alternating  hopes  and 
fears  of  those  who  were  roused  to  active  interest  in  the 
struggle.  Men  who  shared  the  Colonel's  prejudices  and 
felt  the  flame  of  enthusiasm  grew  impatient.  They  could 
do  nothing  here ;  their  hands  were  tied.  The  movement  to 
take  Maryland  out  of  the  Union  had  failed ;  every  corner 
of  the  State  was  occupied  by  Northern  troops.  Why  not  go 
South  and  help  their  brethren  there  ?  Perhaps,  if  the  Con 
federacy  triumphed,  Maryland  might  yet  be  torn  from  the 
stubborn  grasp  of  the  North.  One  by  one,  at  first,  and 
then  in  groups,  the  members  of  the  battalion  dropped  out  of 
its  ranks,  and  made  their  way  clandestinely  across  the  Po 
tomac.  It  was  necessary  to  keep  their  destination  secret  in 
order  to  avoid  arrest  and  perhaps  long  imprisonment  by  the 
Union  authorities.  From  many  points  along  the  Chesapeake, 
surreptitious  communication  with  the  Confederate  lines  was 
maintained  by  means  of  craft  professedly  engaged  in  the 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  243 

innocent  occupation  of  fishing  or  carrying  grain.  There  was 
an  element  of  mystery  and  danger  in  "  going  South  "  which, 
of  itself,  attracted  adventurous  spirits.  In  a  little  while,  the 
migration  had  become  general,  and  at  last,  but  a  remnant  of 
the  Colonel's  command  was  left.  It  was  high  time,  in  his 
opinion,  to  formally  disband.  A  dinner  to  those  of  his  of 
ficers  who  remained  seemed  to  him  the  most  practicable  and 
fitting  means  of  effecting  this  and  wishing  them  all  god 
speed.  It  was  no  longer  safe  to  hold  open  meetings;  the 
whole  battalion  was  the  object  of  well-founded  suspicion  on 
the  part  of  the  "  Yankee  "  commander  of  the  neighbourhood 
who  showed  an  unpleasant  eagerness  to  nab  Southern  sym 
pathisers. 

The  Colonel  had  meant  to  be  among  the  first  to  leave. 
He  had  known  Lee  and  "  Joe  "  Johnston  as  cadets  at  West 
Point,  and  either  of  those  generals  would  recommend  him 
for  a  good  command.  But  his  affairs  must  be  set  in  order, 
and  when  this  was  done  to  his  satisfaction,  he  encountered 
the  stubborn  opposition  of  his  wife.  Mrs.  Cheston  went 
into  a  fit  of  hysterics  when  he  broached  the  subject,  and 
for  some  days,  she  lay  desperately  ill.  When  she  recovered, 
she  pleaded  with  him  so  pitifully  not  to  leave  her  that  the 
Colonel  was  at  his  wits'  end.  She  gave  him  no  peace  until 
he  promised  not  to  go  without  her  consent,  and  he  was 
forced  to  see  his  battalion  melt  away  while  he  remained  in 
active  at  home. 

The  dinner  was  one  of  the  most  ambitious  entertainments 
that  had  ever  been  given  at  the  Manor,  and  Aunt  Dinah 
surpassed  all  previous  achievements  of  her  art  as  a  cook. 
While  waiting  for  dinner  to  be  announced,  the  guests  strolled 
about  on  the  lawn  or  along  the  paths  of  the  garden,  or  sat 
in  the  shade  of  the  larger  trees,  sipping  juleps  and  toddies 
and  discussing  the  latest  war  news,  the  weather  and  the  crops. 
On  a  table  on  the  front  verandah,  stood  a  huge  bowl  of 


244  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

whisky  punch  which  Mr.  Plunkett  had  mixed,  and  hospitably 
urged  every  one  to  taste,  setting  the  example  himself  rather 
oftener  than  was  judicious. 

It  was  a  delightful  summer  afternoon,  cool  and  fresh,  with 
a  fine  breeze  from  the  river.  The  declining  sun,  glinting  on 
the  lichen-covered  boles  of  the  ancient  elms  and  lindens,  im 
parted  to  them  a  softness  of  texture  like  that  of  velvet.  In 
a  near-by  field,  the  wheat  was  being  reaped,  and  now  and 
then,  there  broke  in  upon  the  hum  of  conversation  on  the 
lawn  a  mellow  chant  from  the  negro  cradlers,  some  twenty 
in  all,  as,  moving  with  even  step,  they  swept  the  ripened 
grain  with  a  single  flash  of  their  blades. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  the  dinner  began.  The  shutters 
of  the  dining-room  had  been  closed,  and  the  large  apartment, 
wainscoted  in  oak,  was  lit  up  with  candles  in  large  cande 
labra  of  solid  silver,  said  to  be  of  Queen  Anne's  time,  which 
were  placed  at  intervals  along  the  centre  and  at  the  four 
corners  of  the  table.  On  the  snowy  damask,  glittered  a  fine 
array  of  old  India  china,  cut-glass  and  silver — the  latter  of 
many  ancient  patterns.  Half  a  dozen  negro  urchins  stood 
at  certain  distances  apart,  waving  long  brushes  of  peacock 
feathers  to  drive  off  flies.  The  major  domo,  Pompey,  suave 
and  deft,  stood  at  the  Colonel's  elbow  ready  to  respond  in  a 
moment  to  the  slightest  word  or  gesture  of  his  master, 
keeping  a  close  watch,  all  the  while,  on  his  staff  of 
waiters. 

The  Colonel  sat  at  one  end  of  the  table,  Mr.  Plunkett  at  the 
other.  The  latter  might  have  been  mistaken  for  the  host,  if 
conclusions  were  drawn  from  his  manner,  which  was  one  of 
great  dignity  and  self-importance.  He  flattered  himself, 
indeed,  that  he  did  the  honours  on  such  occasions  with 
much  greater  impressiveness  and  tact  than  his  brother-in-law. 
The  Colonel  always  submitted  amiably  to  his  petty  usur 
pations.  They  seemed  to  afford  him  so  much  enjoyment 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  245 

and  detracted  nothing,  in  the  Colonel's  opinion,  from  his 
own  dignity.  Everybody  knew  Josias. 

The  absence  of  monied  distinctions  in  Tidewater  society 
was  strongly  emphasised  in  the  appearance  of  some  of  the 
Colonel's  guests.  With  the  exception  of  Reeve  and  his  son, 
all  of  them  belonged  by  right  of  birth  to  the  plantation 
caste,  but  a  stranger  might  have  doubted  their  pretensions 
if  he  had  judged  them  by  the  homely  or  threadbare  garb  of 
not  a  few  members  of  the  company.  The  most  impecunious 
looking  among  them,  however,  exhibited  an  ease  and  self- 
confidence  which  stamped  them  unmistakably.  There  was 
a  certain  pathos  in  the  critical  air  with  which  some  of  these, 
whose  cellars  had  long  been  empty,  passed  judgment  on 
the  wine.  As  though  used  to  sipping  the  choicest  port  or 
madeira  every  day,  they  would  hold  their  glasses  up  to  the 
light  to  examine  the  colour,  or  would  inhale  the  fragrance 
slowly,  to  determine  whether  it  had  the  right  bouquet.  A 
rubicund,  white-moustached  old  gentleman,  with  impressive 
dignity  of  bearing,  who  ranked  next  to  the  Colonel  in  the 
county  in  social  importance,  conversed  most  affably,  without 
a  trace  of  condescension  (condescension,  indeed  1  )  with 
"  Headlong  "  Jack  Frisby,  who  hadn't  an  acre  that  wasn't 
mortgaged  for  all  it  would  carry  ;  whose  clothing  was  patched 
and  darned  in  many  places,  and  yet  conducted  himself  with 
perfect  sang-froid.  Jack  belonged  to  one  of  the  "  very  first 
families,"  and  this  fact  was  never  lost  sight  of  or  ignored 
by  his  neighbours  merely  because  he  happened  to  be  poor. 
He  was  welcomed  cordially  at  every  entertainment,  and  not 
the  proudest  of  his  hosts  ever  dreamed  of  feeling  compro 
mised  by  his  scarecrow  appearance. 

The  Colonel,  bland  and  courteous,  kept  up  an  easy  con 
versation  with  his  guests,  with  a  watchful  eye  upon  the 
mechanism  of  the  dinner,  even  to  the  snuffing  of  the  candles. 
This  duty  was  discharged  by  Pompey,  who,  though  provided 


246  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

with  a  pair  of  brass  extinguishers,  preferred  to  use  his  fin 
gers  which  were  apparently  fireproof. 

Reeve  had  been  included  among  the  Colonel's  guests, 
partly  because  of  his  activity  and  zeal  as  a  Secessionist,  but 
chiefly  from  the  fact  that  he  was  Oswald's  father.  Though 
greatly  flattered,  he  felt  uncomfortable.  He  could  see  in 
the  glances  of  some  of  the  company  that  his  presence  was 
regarded  as  of  doubtful  propriety.  The  Colonel  himself  was 
by  no  means  sure  that  he  had  acted  up  to  his  principles  in 
inviting  him,  but  he  quieted  his  scruples  with  the  reflection 
that  the  dinner  was  a  semi-public  affair  which  did  not  exact 
the  nicest  distinctions. 

The  lawyer  bore  up  under  what  was,  for  him,  a  very  hard 
trial,  with  sulky  impassiveness,  bent  upon  accomplishing  the 
object  he  had  in  view.  He  had  secured  a  seat  next  to 
Captain  Bludsoe,  with  Basil  opposite.  He  intended  to  use 
the  choleric  Captain  as  his  catspaw.  Oswald  sat  on  the 
other  side  of  Captain  Bludsoe  with  whom  he  endeavoured  to 
chat  unconcernedly.  Every  now  and  then,  he  would  steal  a 
glance  at  Basil,  flushing  guiltily  whenever  he  happened  to 
meet  his  eye. 

Reeve  kept  a  decanter  of  wine  or  brandy  constantly  at 
Captain  Bludsoe's  elbow,  and  slily  filled  his  glass  more  than 
once.  The  Captain  was  a  seasoned  toper,  but  owing  to  the 
lawyer's  adroitness  and  persistence,  he  was  beguiled  into 
taking  more  than  he  regarded  as  a  safe  allowance.  To 
wards  the  close  of  the  dinner,  he  had  become  quite  tipsy 
enough  for  Reeve's  purpose.  He  had  just  swallowed  a  stiff 
dram  of  brandy  when  the  lawyer  said  to  him  in  a  low 
voice, 

"  Did  you  know  we  had  an  Abolitionist  among  us  ?  " 

The  Captain  started  as  though  something  had  pricked 
him.  Wheeling  round  in  his  chair,  he  glared  at  Reeve  with 
blood-shot  eyes. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  247 

"  An  Abolitionist  here"  he  muttered  thickly,  " nonsense, 
man — you  must  be  dreaming  1 " 

"  Have  you  noticed  young   Kent  ?  "  demanded  Reeve, 
nodding    towards    Basil.      "  He    hasn't    drunk    a    single 
toast." 

"  What  does  that  signify  ?  "  said  the  Captain  shortly.  He 
liked  Basil,  and  he  did  not  like  Reeve.  "  He's  not  a  drink 
ing  man,  sir.  I  will  answer  for  him  !  " 

His  eyes  questioned  Reeve  pugnaciously.  Nothing  would 
have  pleased  him  better  than  a  duel  with  the  lawyer,  against 
whom  he  had  a  grudge  of  'long  standing,  growing  out  of 
certain  pecuniary  transactions,  but  of  course  the  fellow 
wouldn't  fight.  How  could  it  be  expected  of  him  when 
gentlemen  no  longer  resorted  to  the  code  ? 

It  was  true  that  Basil  had  ignored  all  the  toasts  which, 
without  exception,  had  been  pronouncedly  Secessionist.  He 
was  used  to  hearing  such  sentiments  at  the  Colonel's  dinner 
table,  and  accepted  them  as  a  matter  of  course.  It  was  only 
of  late  that  his  convictions  had  taken  shape,  and  it  was  with 
great  reluctance  that  he  had  been  forced  to  the  conclusion 
that  slavery  was  irreconcilable  with  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
a  growing  anachronism.  Notwithstanding  his  decision  of 
character,  he  had  the  faculty,  inconvenient  at  times,  of  see 
ing  two  sides  to  a  question,  and  his  natural  diffidence 
had  caused  him  to  feel  that,  perhaps,  he  was  mistaken 
in  having  adopted  views  so  radically  at  variance  with 
those  of  all  his  friends.  He  was  reassured,  somewhat,  by 
the  knowledge  that  his  father,  a  student  and  thinker,  dis 
approved  of  slavery,  but  his  mind  had  continued  to  be  dis 
turbed  by  doubts,  and  he  had  hesitated  to  express  his  dissent 
from  the  general  opinion. 

After  all,  it  seemed  to  him,  a  good  deal  might  be  said  in 
favour  of  slavery  in  its  practical  workings.  There  might  be 
isolated  cases  of  cruelty  and  oppression,  but  as  a  rule,  the 


248  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

negroes  seemed  light-hearted  and  happy.  Was  not  their  con 
dition,  upon  the  whole,  much  better  than  it  would  have  been 
as  roaming  savages  in  Africa  exposed  to  the  tyranny  of  far 
worse  forms  of  servitude  or  to  the  horrors  of  tribal  wars, 
of  tortures,  of  cannibalism  ?  Had  they  not,  in  the  mass, 
been  gainers  by  the  transfer  of  their  forefathers  to  the  heart 
of  a  civilised  country  ?  Were  they  not  being  gradually 
educated  and  raised  to  a  higher  level  ?  Compulsion,  from 
his  observation  of  the  negro  character,  was  absolutely  neces 
sary  to  train  them  to  habits  of  industry,  sobriety  and  good 
order.  It  was  the  only  kind  of  improvement  for  which,  as 
yet,  they  were  fitted  as  a  race.  Suppose  the  compulsion 
were  removed  ?  Would  they  not  relapse  into  idleness  and 
barbarism  almost  immediately  ?  If  emancipated  suddenly, 
might  they  not  drift  into  a  state  of  antagonism  to  all  law 
which  would  make  them  a  dangerous  element  ? 

Basil's  instincts  and  sympathies  were  largely  those  of  his 
class.  He  could  not  think  without  pain  of  the  destruction 
of  the  rural  aristocracy  which  must  follow  the  abolition  of 
slavery.  That  aristocracy,  with  all  its  faults  and  follies,  had 
undoubtedly  diffused  a  disciplining  and  refining  force.  On 
the  whole,  it  had  showed  itself  disinterested  and  patriotic. 
With  little  to  gain  and  much  to  lose  by  separation  from  Eng 
land,  whose  authority  in  the  colonies  was  most  favourable  to 
its  permanence  and  growth,  it  had  generously  led  in  the 
struggle  for  colonial  independence.  Since  the  Revolution, 
it  had  been  foremost  in  asserting  the  national  dignity.  From 
its  ranks,  the  state  and  federal  legislatures  had  been  re 
cruited  with  men  of  more  or  less  culture  and  of  reasonably 
liberal  views,  whose  integrity  was  incorruptible.  Abolish 
this  aristocracy,  and  there  would  be  substituted  the  coarser 
conditions  of  a  rural  society  which  had  no  fixed  standard  in 
the  example  of  a  superior  class — the  selfish  greed  of  small 
land-owners ;  the  competition  of  a  thousand  petty  interests 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  249 

struggling  for  supremacy ;  the  domination  of  the  ignorant 
farmer,  the  grasping  merchant,  the  tricky  lawyer.  Basil 
shrank  from  such  a  prospect. 

But  the  question  at  issue  went  deeper  than  this.  It  was, 
reduced  to  its  simplest  terms,  a  question  of  the  rights  of 
man.  Freedom,  to  his  mind,  was  the  natural  privilege  of 
every  human  being.  No  considerations  of  mere  expediency 
could  justify  holding  one's  fellow-creatures  in  bondage,  or 
trading  in  human  flesh  and  blood  as  one  would  trade  in 
horses  and  cattle.  The  world  had  got  beyond  that.  The 
conditions  of  modern  progress  might  be  destructive  of  much 
that  was  worth  preserving,  but  they  tended  irresistibly  to 
wards  a  gentler  humanity.  Slavery  was  the  one  great  ob 
stacle  in  its  path  ;  the  last  stronghold,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
of  despotic  power. 

Reeve  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  Captain  Bludsoe's 
incredulity,  but  he  was  not  to  be  baffled. 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  him  utter  a  word  in  favour  of  slavery 
or  secession  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  It's  absurd,  I  tell  you  !  "  growled  the  Captain.  "  You 
forget  that  Basil  Kent  belongs  to  one  of  our  oldest 
families  !  " 

Basil's  social  position  was,  in  the  Captain's  eyes,  conclu 
sive  evidence  of  his  political  orthodoxy.  It  seemed  incon 
ceivable,  to  the  Captain,  that  a  Southern  gentleman  could 
be  an  Abolitionist — in  other  words,  a  foe  to  the  conditions 
on  which  his  class  depended  for  its  existence. 

"You  may  be  right,"  said  Reeve,  with  a  confident  smile, 
"  but  it  is  easy  to  settle  the  matter ;  just  ask  him  to  join  you 
in  a  toast  to  the  Southern  cause." 

"  By  God,  I  will  I  "  spluttered  the  Captain,  furious  at  the 
lawyer's  pertinacity,  which  was  all  the  more  offensive  to  him 
because  he  resented  having  to  touch  elbows  with  such  a 
common  fellow.  "  Basil,  lad,"  he  called  out  across  the  table, 


250  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

in  a  hoarse  bellow  that  startled  everybody,  "  I  want  you  to 
drink  a  toast  with  me  1 " 

Basil  looked  round  in  surprise.  He  saw  at  once  that  the 
Captain  was  intoxicated,  and  imagining  his  proposal  to  have 
been  prompted  by  a  mere  tipsy  whim,  he  decided  to  humour 
him.  The  Captain  was  apt  to  be  obstreperous  when  in 
flamed  with  liquor,  and  Basil  wanted  to  save  the  Colonel 
the  annoyance  of  one  of  the  old  fire-eater's  outbreaks. 

"  Why,  certainly,  Captain,"  he  answered,  in  a  pleasant 
tone.  Filling  his  glass  from  the  nearest  decanter  of  sherry, 
he  waited  without  the  ghost  of  a  suspicion  of  the  mine  that 
had  been  laid  for  him. 

The  Captain  poured  out  half  a  tumblerful  of  brandy,  and 
flourishing  the  glass,  exclaimed, 

"  Success  to  the  Confederacy,  confusion  to  the  Yankees  !  " 

To  the  astonishment  of  everyone  save  Reeve  and  his  son, 
Basil  set  down  the  glass  he  had  raised  to  his  lips,  and  said, 
"  I  cannot  drink  that  toast." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BASIL  was  pale  ;  his  voice  trembled.  He  was  fully  con 
scious  of  the  gravity  of  his  decision.  The  Captain's  chal 
lenge  had  illuminated  the  situation  for  him.  He  had  seen,  in  a 
flash,  where  his  duty  lay.  The  convictions  which  had  been 
forming  slowly  for  months  leaped,  all  at  once,  into  vigorous 
life.  Now  that  he  knew  what  he  really  thought  and  felt, 
evasion  or  concealment  had  become  impossible  for  him — 
impossible  because  dishonest. 

He  had  no  illusions  as  to  the  consequences  of  his  refusal. 
It  was  an  act  which  cut  asunder,  at  one  stroke,  all  his  dearest 
ties.  It  left  him  isolated,  a  general  mark  for  hostility  and 
contempt.  Few,  if  any,  would  understand  his  motives. 
Even  those  who  might  give  him  credit  for  being  sincere 
would  regard  him  only  as  a  foolish  fanatic.  He  well  knew 
the  nature  of  the  prejudices  he  must  encounter.  They  were 
not  unnatural  prejudices,  in  his  opinion.  On  the  contrary, 
they  were  the  ordinary,  logical  product  of  local  conditions. 
Their  very  reasonableness,  from  the  point  of  view  of  those 
who  held  them,  made  them  all  the  more  formidable.  No 
one  could  be  persuaded  to  admit  that  he,  as  one  of  them 
selves,  could  offer  any  justification  for  his  course. 

In  a  moment,  a  frost  had  fallen  upon  the  company  which, 
until  now,  had  been  thoroughly  jovial.  The  faces  gazing  at 
him  were  either  incredulous  or  angry.  In  the  eyes  of 
some,  he  read  incipient  scorn.  From  this  assemblage,  no 
indulgence  might  be  expected  ;  from  its  verdict,  there  could 
be  no  appeal.  It  was  a  representative  gathering,  and  its 
opinion  would  be  the  general  opinion.  Every  type  of  the 
dominating  class  was  to  be  found  in  it,  and  every  shade  of 

251 


252  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

inherited  prejudice  was  embodied  in  these  different  types. 
The  student  of  heredity  would  have  been  interested  in  study 
ing  the  various  faces.  They  were  individualised  so  strongly 
that  it  would  have  been  possible  to  determine — at  least,  with 
plausible  probability — the  particular  strain  of  ancestry  which 
each  represented.  There  were  dignified  old  gentlemen  with 
shaven  faces  of  stern,  ascetic  cast,  who  might  have  descended 
from  the  Puritan  Commissioners,  Bennett  and  Lloyd.  Side 
by  side  with  them,  in  convivial  intimacy,  sat  gaunt,  sallow- 
visaged  individuals,  keen  of  eye,  with  the  flowing  locks  and 
long,  peaked  beards  of  King  Charles's  cavaliers.  The  merry, 
roystering  qualities  of  the  Restoration  squires  showed  them 
selves  in  the  jolly,  devil-may-care  visages  of  reckless,  fox 
hunting  youths  like  Turlo.  The  grim  but  not  pleasure-hat 
ing  characteristics  of  the  sturdy  yeoman  stock  which  contrib 
uted  the  bulk  of  Lord  Baltimore's  colonists  were  visible  in 
the  coarser  visages  of  half-a-dozen  tough  old  chaps,  like 
Captain  Bludsoe,  who  sat  sipping  their  wine  or  whisky  and 
water  with  a  deliberate,  meditative  enjoyment. 

Basil  comprehended  perfectly  what  was  passing  in  the 
minds  of  nearly  all.  Save  Oswald  and  his  father  perhaps, 
there  was  not  one  of  them  who  was  capable  of  considering 
the  question  as  even  debatable.  Oswald,  having  had  the 
advantages  of  a  liberal  education  and  of  travel,  might  be 
expected  to  take  a  broader  view.  The  lawyer,  free  from  the 
prejudices  of  caste,  and  at  heart,  resentfully  opposed  to 
them,  might  sympathise  secretly,  but  ever  ready  to  "  trim," 
he  would  take  care  not  to  let  his  sympathy  appear.  All  the 
others,  even  those  most  friendly  to  him — including,  of  course, 
the  Colonel — would  look  upon  him  as  a  pervert  from  princi 
ples  which  were  part  of  the  religion  of  his  section  and  his 
class.  Even  those  who  had  doubts  on  the  subject  of  slavery 
— and  not  a  fe\v  of  the  planters  inclined  to  some  scheme  of 
gradual  emancipation — would  be  incensed  against  him  for  ad- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  253 

vocating  immediate  abolition,  a  thing  abhorrent  to  the  most 
liberal  slaveholder  as  involving  a  sudden  and  ruinous  sacri 
fice  of  so  much  of  his  vested  capital,  his  property  in  slaves. 
As  one  man,  they  would  cast  him  out.  They  were  friends 
no  longer,  but  enemies  who  would  assail  him  at  every  point. 

And  Lydia!  A  sharp  pang  shot  through  him  at  the 
thought  that  he  had  done  the  one  thing  she  would  most 
bitterly  resent,  and  must  become  for  her,  also,  an  object  of 
dislike,  perhaps  of  loathing.  How  could  she  fail  to  despise 
him,  as  others  would  despise  him  ?  Intensely  prejudiced  as 
she  was  in  favour  of  her  father's  opinions,  she  would  inevitably 
exchange  her  present  feeling  of  indifference  for  one  of  active 
contempt.  That  were  hard  to  bear.  He  had  been  striving, 
ever  since  the  conviction  that  she  loved  Oswald  had  forced 
itself  upon  him  at  the  fox-hunt,  to  accustom  himself  to  the 
dreary  fact  that,  henceforth,  he  could  be  nothing  to  her,  but 
he  recoiled  from  the  thought  of  her  scorn. 

For  a  moment,  his  sense  of  duty  and  his  inclination 
wrestled  desperately  for  the  mastery.  He  might  even  yet 
draw  back  and  make  some  excuse  for  his  refusal.  It  need 
not  even  be  plausible  ;  his  friends  would  be  glad  to  welcome 
him  again  to  the  fold,  however  clumsily  he  recanted.  A 
flush  of  shame  followed  his  momentary  weakness.  He 
could  not  palter  with  the  truth.  If  it  broke  his  heart,  he 
must  not  equivocate.  He  knew  that  if  he  failed  now,  he  could 
never  hold  up  his  head  again.  That  were  worse  than  the 
loss  of  all  he  was  risking.  He  might  be  able  to  bear  the 
contempt  of  others — yes,  even  Lydia's — knowing  it  was 
unmerited  ;  he  could  not  bear  his  own  contempt — the  secret 
knowledge  of  a  moral  cowardice  that  would  always  cling  to 
him  ;  that  would  clutch  his  heart-strings  with  its  slimy  fangs 
whenever  he  thought  of  this  moment,  and  poison  every 
breath  he  drew.  He  could  never  escape  the  horrible  thing, 
never  1  Let  come  what  would,  he  must  save  himself  from 


254  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

that.  His  brow  cleared  :  his  resolution  was  taken.  He 
lifted  his  head,  and  a  touch  of  colour  shone  in  his  cheeks. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  Captain,"  he  said  in  a  strong, 
even  tone,  speaking  slowly.  "  The  Union  our  fathers  fought 
for  seems  to  me  a  sacred  thing.  Secession  and  slavery  are 
both,  in  my  opinion,  morally  wrong.  Until  now,  my  con 
victions  have  been  more  or  less  vague,  but  you  forced  the 
issue  upon  me  ;  the  fact  that  I  had  to  meet  it  revealed  to  me 
my  true  state  of  mind.  Believe  me,  I  do  not  lightly  oppose 
my  views  to  those  of  all  my  friends  ;  I  would  gladly  have 
kept  silent,  but  in  refusing  to  drink  your  toast,  I  am  com 
pelled  to  explain." 

No  one  spoke  for  some  moments.  Astonishment  held 
every  one  dumb.  Captain  Bludsoe  was  the  first  to  break 
the  silence.  Staring  blankly  at  Basil,  he  sank  back  help 
lessly  in  his  chair,  muttering, 

"  That  damned  pettifogger  wasn't  lying.  A  gentleman 
turned  Abolitionist  ?  What  the  devil  are  we  coming  to  ?  I 
have  lived  too  long  !  " 

The  Colonel  gazed  at  Basil  with  blended  pain  and  com 
passion.  He  had  suffered  a  cruel  blow.  Basil — the  young 
fellow  he  had  admired,  had  loved  so  fondly,  whom  he  would 
have  chosen  of  all  others  as  the  husband  of  his  darling  girl  1 
He  had  known  he  was  lax  in  some  of  his  opinions,  but  this 
was  out  of  all  reason  ;  it  couldn't  be.  Springing  from  his 
seat,  as  Basil  turned  from  the  table,  he  seized  him  by  the 
shoulder,  and  said,  in  a  hurried  whisper, 

"  Don't  leave  us  in  this  way,  my  boy.  You  were  nettled 
by  old  Bludsoe  and  didn't  mean  what  you  said.  It's  impos 
sible,  of  course,  that  you,  who  are  one  of  us,  should  be 
really  an  Abolitionist.  If  you  will  go,  wait  for  me  in  the 
library  where  we  may  have  a  quiet  talk.  It  won't  take  me 
long  to  clear  your  head." 

"It  is  useless.  Colonel,"  said  Basil  with  a  sigh,  deeply 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  255 

touched  by  his  old  friend's  kindness.  "  My  mind  is  made  up. 
The  lines  have  been  drawn  ;  I  must  take  one  side  or  the 
other  ;  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  remain  neutral.  You,  of  all 
men,  would  never  advise  me  to  trifle  with  my  convictions. 
Would  to  Heaven  I  could 'be  persuaded,  but  discussion 
would  only  be  painful  for  both  of  us.  Try  to  think  of  me 
kindly.  I  am  leaving  what  I  most  love  and  value.  Good 
bye." 

The  Colonel  wrung  his  hand,  and  turned  from  him  with  a 
look  of  acute  distress.  "  The  boy  is  mad — mad  1  "  he  ex 
claimed. 

As  Basil  hurried  from  the  room,  Reeve  leaned  over, 
behind  Captain  Bludsoe's  chair,  and  whispered  to  Oswald, 

"  Well,  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  Basil  Kent  will  never  darken 
these  doors  again." 

Oswald  did  not  reply.  He  hated  his  father  at  that  moment, 
himself  even  more.  But  he  did  not  repent  what  had  been 
done  at  his  instigation  ;  he  had  got  rid  of  his  only  rival  ;  the 
way  was  clear. 

In  the  hall,  Basil  encountered  Lydia  and  Judith.  He  saw 
at  once  that  they  knew  what  had  happened.  Their  inform 
ant  was  Mr.  Plunkett,  who,  with  the  zeal  of  the  inveterate 
gossip,  had  hastened  out  a  moment  before  to  spread  the 
news  of  Basil's  surprising  defection. 

Lydia  was  standing  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  hall,  and  con 
sequently,  Basil  did  not  observe  that  she  stretched  out  both 
hands,  as  though  to  stop  him,  as  he  hastened  past.  The 
brief  glimpse  he  caught  of  her  face  gave  him  merely  the  im 
pression  of  a  pair  of  mournful  eyes  gleaming  in  a  countenance, 
half  in  shadow,  that  seemed  to  him  set  and  stern.  She  pit 
ied  him,  perhaps,  but  she  condemned  him  inexorably.  The 
words,  "  Ah,  Basil  !  "  uttered  in  a  soft  voice,  but  as  he 
imagined,  with  an  accent  of  reproach,  caused  him  an  addi 
tional  twinge. 


256  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

How  could  he  guess  that  the  effect  on  her  had  been  pre 
cisely  the  opposite  of  what  he  supposed  ?  That,  so  far  from 
meaning  to  rebuke  him,  she  longed  to  express  her  admira 
tion  of  his  courage,  but  was  restrained  by  timidity  arising 
from  her  mistaken  idea  of  his  attitude  towards  her  ?  De 
spite  her  prejudices,  her  whole  nature  thrilled  with  a  proud 
perception  of  the  intrepidity  of  his  course.  He  had  acted 
«s  she  would  have  wished  to  act,  in  his  place.  Her  dauntless 
spirit  took  fire  at  the  thought.  What  mattered  it  if  he  was 
wrong  ?  He  Ueved  himself  to  be  right,  and  had  been 
brave  enougL  %re  himself  without  regard  to  conse 

quences,  t,  sn-w,  or  rather,  thought  she  knew  all  it  must 
have  cost  him,  yet  he  hnd  not  flinched.  In  the  hasty  view 
she  had  had  of  h;.  ,..:.; res  drawn  with  pain,  she  had  seen 
how  the  struggle  must  "-a"  >.urf  1  -m.  All  the  woman  in  her 
stirred  at  the  sight.  Her  c:>.-  in-ru;sc  v/as  one  of  sympathy 
and  compassion.  She  lon&  *o  console  him,  to  pour  the 
balm  of  affection — such  affecti' ••:  as  only  a  woman  bestows, 
unquestioning,  ungrudging,  infinitely  tender — upon  his 
wounds.  Affection  !  That  was  not  enough  ;  she  felt  that 
she  could  give  him  her  very  soul.  Never  again  could  she 
think  of  him  lightly  or  even  tamely  ;  his  familiar  figure, 
which  had  been  one  of  the  commonplaces  of  her  daily  life, 
had  suddenly  become  heroic.  Her  ardent  nature  was  awake 
at  last  ;  it  burned  with  the  flame  of  a  passion  akin  to  his  own. 

Basil  passed  her  without  pausing — he  dreaded  further  re 
proaches  from  her — and  Lydia's  heart  sank.  He  cared  no 
longer  for  her  sympathy.  He  was  quite  indifferent  to  her 
opinion,  whether  good  or  bad. 

It  was  otherwise  with  Judith.  As  he  drew  near  her,  he 
slackened  his  steps,  and  when  she  put  out  her  hands,  he  did 
not  ignore  them,  but  clasped  them  eagerly. 

"  I  have  heard  all,"  Judith  exclaimed.  "  You  have  been 
very  brave." 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  257 

Lydia  gazed  at  them,  in  helpless  pain.  She  longed  to  cry 
out,  "  I,  too,  think  you  have  been  brave,  and  I  love  you, 
Basil !  "  But  he  had  turned  from  her  to  Judith  ;  she  would 
have  permitted  herself  to  be  torn  with  pincers  rather  than 
utter  a  word. 

"  I  did  nothing  more  than  my  duty,"  said  Basil,  "  I  won't 
pretend  it  was  easy,  but  I  claim  no  credit  for  it ;  it  was 
forced  upon  me.  Indeed,  I  am  to  blame  for  not  having 
spoken  before.  I  must  confess  the  consequences  frightened 
me.  You  see  I  am  not  so  valiant,  after  all.  It  is  consoling 
to  me  to  find  there  is  at  least  one  of  my  friends  who  thinks 
none  the  worse  of  me  ;  I  thank  you  from  my  heart." 

He  continued  to  hold  her  hands  while  he  was  speaking, 
and  Lydia  could  see  that  he  was  gazing  gratefully,  lovingly, 
as  it  seemed  to  her,  into  Judith's  eyes. 

"  No,  he  does  not  care  for  me  at  all,"  she  groaned.  "  He 
never  felt  for  me  what  he  feels  for  Judith." 

Sick  at  heart,  dreading  to  see  more,  Lydia  turned  hastily 
away  and  fled  to  her  room.  A  revolution  had  been  wrought 
in  her.  She  had  learned  at  last  what  it  was  to  love  and  to 
suffer.  From  a  child,  she  had  become,  in  one  moment,  a 
woman.  Life  had  ceased  to  be  for  her  an  idyl ;  she  com 
prehended  its  seriousness,  its  possibilities  of  pain.  She 
flung  herself  upon  her  bed  in  an  agony  of  tears.  He  was 
lost  to  her — lost.  And  he  might  have  been  hers,  hers  for 
ever,  but  for  her  childish  folly  !  Her  punishment  was  more 
than  she  could  bear.  All  her  soul  was  in  revolt  at  the 
cruelty  of  it.  She  glanced,  through  her  tears,  at  her  little 
altar  and  wondered  whether,  if  she  knelt  there  and  prayed, 
she  would  find  relief.  No  :  God  was  no  longer  good  to  her ; 
He  had  permitted  this  to  happen  ;  He  did  not  concern  Him 
self  about  her.  She  must  wrestle  with  her  grief,  alone. 
She  would  wrestle  with  it.  Where  was  her  pride  ?  Spring 
ing  to  her  feet,  she  angrily  brushed  away  her  tears.  As  she 
17 


258  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

did  so,  her  gaze  happened  to  rest  upon  a  little  picture,  tacked 
to  the  wall,  that  Basil  had  given  her  years  before.  It  was  a 
picture  of  an  Italian  peasant  boy,  with  daisies  in  his  cap, 
whose  dark  eyes,  Basil  had  told  her,  reminded  him  of  hers. 
She  stood  looking  at  it  for  some  time.  He  must  have  loved 
her,  then.  It  was  consoling,  at  first,  to  dwell  upon  this 
thought,  but  when  she  reflected  that  he  loved  her  no  longer, 
her  misery  returned  with  added  force.  A  fierce  cry  of  pain 
escaped  her,  and  seizing  the  picture,  she  tore  it  from  its 
place,  intending  to  destroy  it.  The  next  moment,  with  a 
sudden  change  of  impulse,  she  kissed  it  passionately,  and 
pressed  it  to  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXV' 

BASIL  was  one  of  those  who  fight  best  when  the  odds  are 
greatest.  There  was  a  reserved  power  in  him  which  came 
into  play  only  when  he  found  himself  in  serious  trouble. 
He  could  not  have  explained  why  it  was,  but  in  any  grave 
emergency,  he  was  conscious  always  of  a  strengthening  of 
his  purpose.  Unknown  to  himself,  he  had  acquired  the 
discipline  which  qualifies  a  man  to  lead  forlorn  hopes.  The 
hard  training  he  had  had,  almost  from  boyhood,  in  his 
efforts  to  cope  with  the  disorder  in  his  father's  affairs,  had 
developed  in  him  a  kind  of  alacrity  in  facing  difficulties  and 
hastening  to  grapple  with  them.  The  situation  had  often 
seemed  desperate ;  he  had  pressed  on,  not  with  any  clear 
hope  of  winning,  but  with  a  stern,  almost  eager  determina 
tion  to  spend  himself  to  the  uttermost  in  the  effort.  There 
was  a  sacrificial  spirit  in  him — a  spirit  that  often  caused  his 
inclinations,  his  personal  interests  to  shrivel  and  look  small. 
The  call  of  duty  rang  for  him  a  clarion  note,  drowning  even 
the  passionate  cry  of  his  heart.  For  such  a  man,  fidelity  to 
duty  is  measured  only  by  his  capacity  to  endure. 

Basil's  power  of  endurance  was  now  subjected  to  an  in 
comparably  harder  test  than  any  it  had  ever  known.  All 
that  he  had  accomplished  hitherto,  seemed  child's  play  be 
side  the  ordeal  he  was  called  upon  to  undergo.  But  his 
spirit  rose  with  a  growing  sense  of  combativeness  as  the 
prospect  darkened,  and  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  the 
difficulties  he  had  to  meet  and  how  best  to  cope  with  them. 
Grief  gripped  his  heart  with  remorseless  hand  as  he  rode 
swiftly  homeward  ;  in  spite  of  the  pain,  he  fixed  his  mind 
resolutely  on  the  future  and  the  line  of  action  he  ought  to 

259 


2<5o  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

take.  First  of  all,  his  father's  slaves  must  be  freed.  His 
father  had  always  been  inclined  to  manumission,  and  now 
that  he,  Basil,  had  declared  himself,  it  should  be  no  longer 
delayed.  It  was  the  logical  consequence  of  his  avowal.  He 
would  stultify  himself  if  he  failed  to  urge  it.  Equally  bind 
ing,  it  seemed  to  him,  was  the  moral  obligation  of  at  once 
taking  arms  for  the  Union.  If  it  were  criminal  to  destroy 
the  Union,  ought  he  not  to  offer  to  defend  it  ?  He  might 
find  himself  arrayed,  sword  in  hand,  against  his  friends.  It 
would  be  a  terrible  situation,  but  he  must  face  even  that. 

He  smiled  sadly,  with  a  grim  sense  of  humour,  at  the 
thought  that  his  course  would  be  justified  even  from  the 
"  States'  Rights "  point  of  view.  Maryland  was  still  a 
member  of  the  Union  ;  in  fighting  for  the  Union,  therefore, 
he  would  be  fighting  for  his  state.  He  was  more  consist 
ent,  according  to  their  own  reasoning,  than  his  Secessionist 
friends. 

On  reaching  home,  he  sought  his  father  in  his  study  where 
he  found  him  seated  at  a  table  piled  high  with  books.  Mr. 
Kent  was  writing  on  a  large  sheet  of  unruled  paper  slowly 
with  a  quill  pen,  forming  every  character  with  laborious 
pains.  He  was  very  fastidious  on  this  point.  A  blur  on  a 
page  of  manuscript,  the  indistinctness  of  a  letter  offended 
his  eye  ;  he  had  the  true  scholar's  love  of  accuracy  even  in 
the  smallest  details.  A  strong  light  from  a  large  lamp  fell 
full  upon  his  face  which,  though  sallow  and  wrinkled,  pos 
sessed  a  singular  charm,  a  spiritual  beauty.  It  was  the  face 
of  a  dreamer  as  well  as  a  student,  and  in  the  large,  earnest 
brown  eyes,  there  was  a  brooding  wistf ulness,  as  if  they  were 
constantly  searching  for  and  never  finding  the  ideal. 

Though  living  almost  wholly  in  his  books,  Mr.  Kent  was 
not  without  a  deep  and  tender  interest  in  all  that  affected 
his  son  and  his  friend,  the  Colonel.  His  sympathies  were 
the  more  acute  from  being  confined  to  so  narrow  a  spbere. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  261 

The  outer  world  was,  for  him,  a  restless  dream ;  his  world 
lay  within  the  four  walls  of  his  study.  He  derived  great 
pleasure  from  Basil's  daily  visits.  It  was  delightful  to  know 
that  he  had  such  a  resolute,  strong  young  fellow  to  lean 
upon,  and  one,  too,  who  understood  and  respected  his  need 
of  seclusion. 

"  Well,  my  son,"  he  said,  looking  up  from  his  work  with  a 
smile  as  Basil  entered,  and  speaking  in  a  softly  modulated 
voice  whose  musical  tones  carried  with  them  a  suggestion  of 
cultured  ease — one  never  hears  such  voices  in  coarse  or 
impetuously  busy  men — "  you  had,  of  course,  a  pleasant  day 
at  the  Manor?" 

"  No,  father,"  said  Basil  with  a  sigh,  taking  a  seat  at  his 
side,  "  it  was  the  saddest  day  I  ever  spent." 

As  briefly  as  he  could,  he  described  what  had  happened. 

Mr.  Kent  stroked  his  thin  brown  beard  with  a  thoughtful 
air.  He  did  not  appear  to  be  surprised,  but  was  evidently 
grieved. 

"  It  must  have  been  very  hard,"  he  said,  in  a  sympathetic 
tone.  "  And  yet,  you  could  not  have  done  otherwise.  Of 
course,  you  know  I  share  your  opinions." 

He  was  rather  proud  of  the  fact  that  his  approval  had  an 
appreciable  value.  Although  a  book-worm  and  a  solitary, 
Mr.  Kent  was  not  without  his  weight  in  the  community — due 
chiefly  to  his  reputation  for  learning.  There  was  profound 
respect  for  literary  acquirements  among  the  planters.  Most 
of  them  were  college  bred ;  not  a  few  dabbled  in  com 
position  for  their  favourite  newspapers;  even  the  more 
ignorant  envied  those  who  could  quote  scraps  of  Greek  or 
Latin.  Mr.  Kent  was  a  prolific  writer  of  essays  on  a  great 
variety  of  subjects,  not  only  for  the  county  newspaper  but 
for  journals  in  Baltimore  and  Philadelphia.  His  style  was 
ornate,  sonorous ;  with  a  liberal  garnishing  of  classical 
phrases.  His  opinions  were  usually  sound,  but  this  was  a 


262  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

fact  of  minor  importance  ;  what  most  impressed  his  readers 
was  the  erudition  he  displayed.  Though  timid  by  nature, 
he  was  a  fierce  controversialist — on  paper  ;  his  power  of 
invective  was  greatly  admired.  His  son  was  more  discrimi 
nating.  He  attached  importance  to  his  ideas  because,  as  a 
rule,  they  were  liberal,  with  a  strong  dash  of  originality,  and 
supported  by  a  clever  marshalling  of  facts.  Mr.  Kent  never 
took  anything  for  granted  ;  he  was  imaginative,  speculative, 
but  a  passionate  searcher  after  truth.  There  was  intimate 
sympathy  between  father  and  son. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Basil,  "  I  was  quite  sure  of  that ;  the 
knowledge  helped  me." 

"We  must  free  our  slaves,"  said  his  father,  after  a  slight 
pause.  "  It  is  not  a  new  thought  to  me,  as  you  know ;  I  have 
often  weighed  it,  and  it  has  caused  me  many  a  troubled  hour. 
My  father  had  the  same  doubts.  If  the  truth  were  known, 
they  have  been  shared  by  every  slaveholder  of  ordinary  in 
telligence  and  heart."  Mr.  Kent  took  a  worn,  yellow  paper 
from  a  pile  of  old  documents  lying  before  him.  "  Here  is  a 
letter  written  by  your  grandfather  to  a  friend  in  Virginia  as 
long  ago  as  1807,"  he  continued,  unfolding  the  sheet  and 
disclosing  a  page  of  fine  handwriting,  somewhat  faded  but 
still  distinct.  "  I  have  read  it  often,  and  only  this  afternoon, 
I  came  upon  it  again.  It  reflects  my  own  views  so  accu 
rately  that  I  will  read  a  passage  from  it.  You  will  perceive 
that  your  dislike  of  slavery  is  inherited.  Your  grand 
father  owned  many  more  slaves  than  you  and  I  own  now, 
and  this  is  what  he  wrote  to  a  fellow  slaveholder  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Potomac :  '  The  political  Horizon  is  as 
suming  an  appearance  very  unpleasant  indeed ;  the  late 
papers  give  reason  to  fear  that  the  proceedings  of  the  British 
Admirals  have  been  authorised  by  their  Government  and 
that  this  forms  the  commencement  of  a  premeditated  attack. 
Britain  is  menacing  us  on  the  one  hand  and  Spain  on  the 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  263 

other,  and  the  accursed  system  of  slavery,  which  I  detest 
with  all  my  soul,  which  every  day  is  becoming  more  exe 
crable  to  me,  has  given  us  an  internal  Enemy,  which,  in  the 
event  of  a  War,  might  be  equally  dangerous  with  either.' 
Language  could  scarcely  be  stronger  than  this ;  yet  '  detest 
ing  '  slavery,  which  was  becoming  more  '  execrable'  to  him 
every  day,  my  father  made  provision  in  his  will  for  manumit 
ting  but  few  of  his  slaves.  Why  ?  For  the  same  reason  that 
I  have  continued  to  hold  them.  He  saw,  as  I  have  seen, 
that  our  whole  social  fabric  rested  upon  slavery  as  its  foun 
dation.  Only  a  general  movement  could  effect  a  safe  and 
equable  reform.  Individual  movements  might  work  injury 
to  society  and  even  do  harm  to  the  slaves  themselves.  We 
deemed  it  wiser  to  wait  until  the  public  conscience  was 
stirred,  and  in  the  meantime,  to  mitigate  the  evils  of  slavery 
as  best  we  might.  Perhaps,  we  were  mistaken,  but  the  time 
we  waited  for  has  come.  Slavery  is  doomed — in  Maryland, 
at  least.  We  shall  but  anticipate  a  general  emancipation.  I 
am  glad  I  waited  for  you  to  do  what  I  dared  not  undertake, 
for  not  until  now  would  we  have  been  able  to  provide  for  the 
maintenance  of  our  people  as  freemen.  To  have  sent  them 
forth  as  beggars,  would  have  been  a  doubtful  kindness  in 
deed." 

"  Yes,"  said  Basil,  "  the  estate  is  rid  of  incumbrances, 
and  we  have  a  considerable  sum  in  bank.  I  think  we  could 
spare  each  family  a  bit  of  land  and  a  cabin." 

"  Thanks  to  you,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Kent  warmly.  "  In 
enabling  me  to  right  a  great  wrong,  you  have  made  my  old 
age  happy.  To  give  a  hundred  human  beings  freedom,  and 
not  freedom  merely,  but  the  means  of  support  1  What 
greater  happiness  could  there  be  ?  And  this  happiness  will 
be  yours  and  mine  to-morrow — but  yours,  first  of  all,  for 
you  shall  tell  them." 

"  There  is  another  thing,  father,"  said  Basil,  hesitating. 


264  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

He  knew  he  was  about  to  inflict  a  blow.     "  I  must  leave 
you  ;  I  have  determined  to  seek  a  commission  in  the  army." 

"  The  army !  "  said  Mr.  Kent,  startled. 

"  Yes,"  said  Basil,  steadily.  "  Is  it  not  my  duty  ?  I  have 
youth  and  strength :  ought  they  not  to  be  given  to  the 
cause  I  have  espoused  ?  Would  you  have  me  remain  in 
active  here  while  others,  weaker  than  I,  are  fighting  for  their 
opinions  ?  If  I  fight  against  my  friends,  is  that  my  fault  ? 
Would  I  not  feel  dishonoured  if  they  should  prevail  without 
my  having  struck  a  blow  ?  Would  they  not  have  real  cause 
to  despise  me,  then  ?  Besides,  I  am  so  unhappy  here.  You 
cannot  imagine  how  I  suffer.  To  live  among  those  I  have 
loved  and  honoured,  feeling  that  they  look  askance  at  me, 
could  there  be  greater  misery?  Away  from  them,  in  the 
stirring  life  of  the  army,  I  might,  at  times,  be  able  to  for- 
get." 

"  You  are  right,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  sadly.  "  It  is  a 
bitter  choice  ;  God  be  merciful  and  send  you  back  to  me  1  " 

Early  next  morning,  Basil  sent  an  order  to  the  Quarter  for 
the  negroes  to  assemble  on  the  front  lawn.  After  breakfast, 
he  went  out  doors  to  smoke  his  pipe  and  await  their  com 
ing.  He  seated  himself  on  a  wooden  bench  in  a  quadrangle 
formed  by  the  walls  of  the  house  and  a  low  fence  of  lattice 
work  over  which  clambered  honeysuckle  in  great  luxuriance. 
The  front  of  the  house,  with  its  long  main  building  and 
projecting  wings,  defined  three  sides  of  the  quadrangle — a 
spacious  green  court  planted  with  roses.  Some  of  these 
climbed  over  the  walls  to  the  roof,  waving  clusters  of  fra 
grant  blossoms  before  the  windows.  The  house  was  said  to 
have  been  planned  by  one  of  the  Lords  Baltimore  for  a 
kinsman  to  whom  he  had  granted  the  land  and  from  whom 
the  Kents  were  descended.  His  lordship  would  seem,  from 
the  size  of  the  structure,  to  have  been  a  person  of  liberal 
views — at  least,  in  matters  of  architecture.  The  great 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  265 

building,  painted  white  and  prominently  placed  on  a  knoll 
overlooking  the  river,  might  have  been  mistaken  by  stran 
gers  viewing  it  from  a  distance  for  some  public  edifice  of 
marble. 

The  grounds,  unlike  those  at  the  Manor,  were  almost  bare 
of  shrubbery  and  trees.  There  were  a  few  gnarled  locusts 
on  the  lawn,  an  immense  horse-chestnut  at  the  gate,  and 
immediately  in  front  of  the  house,  two  decapitated  poplars 
whose  trunks  were  hidden  by  ivy  which  fell  in  waving  drap 
ery  of  vine  and  leaves  from  the  tops.  The  even  sweep  of 
the  lawn  was  broken  on  the  south  by  a  ravine  which 
widened  into  a  meadow  of  several  acres,  with  a  small  lake 
shaded  by  weeping  willows  of  great  size  whose  drooping 
branches  touched  the  water.  Near  the  head  of  the  lake, 
some  projecting  stumps  formed  tiny  islands,  and  from  the 
soil  at  their  roots,  sprang  wild  rose-bushes  loaded  with 
dainty  pink  blossoms.  From  the  back  of  the  house,  a  broad 
expanse  of  open  land,  with  an  orchard  of  fruit  trees  on  one 
side  and  a  rambling  garden  on  the  other,  sloped  gently 
down  to  the  river. 

While  waiting  for  the  negroes,  Basil  glanced  about  him 
with  a  feeling  of  keen  regret.  It  was  hard  to  have  to  tear 
himself  away  from  his  home.  He  loved  it  not  only  from 
inherited  instinct  and  from  long  association,  but  because  he 
had  won  it,  so  to  speak,  for  himself.  At  one  time,  his  father 
had  been  in  imminent  danger  of  losing  the  property ;  but 
Basil,  after  years  of  patient  labour,  had  succeeded  in  clearing 
off  the  load  of  debt  and  even  in  accumulating  a  fund  in  re 
serve.  During  the  years  he  had  thus  worked  on,  alternately 
hoping  and  fearing,  he  had  acquired  a  deep  and  intimate 
love  of  the  place,  which  had  struck  its  roots,  as  it  seemed  to 
him,  into  the  very  soil.  Does  not  one  always  cherish  a 
peculiar  attachment  for  anything  one  has  saved  and  made 
his  own  ?  Basil's  feeling  was  the  stronger  from  the  sense  of 


266  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

honest  pride  in  his  success.  It  was  due  solely  to  him  that 
the  name  of  Kent  was  still  associated  with  the  place,  as  it 
had  always  been.  Sometimes,  glancing  up  at  the  family 
portraits  in  the  hall,  he  thought,  with  a  glow  of  pleasure, 
that  the  eyes  of  his  forefathers  looked  down  upon  him  grate 
fully  for  what  he  had  done. 

And  now,  he  was  about  to  leave  it  all,  perhaps  forever. 
He  gave  a  deep  sigh  at  the  thought  of  the  hard,  immitigable 
fate  that  was  driving  him  from  everything  he  held  most  dear  ; 
but  as  the  negroes  began  to  make  their  appearance  on  the 
lawn,  he  roused  himself  to  the  loyal  performance  of  the 
duties  that  had  laid  their  iron  grasp  upon  him. 

The  slaves  soon  gathered  in  front  of  the  quadrangle. 
They  numbered  nearly  a  hundred  individuals,  including  a 
dozen  or  more  pickaninnies  who  had  followed  the  procession 
from  the  Quarter  in  order  to  see  what  was  "  gwine  ter  hap 
pen."  The  older  negroes  were  also  very  curious.  They 
had  no  suspicion  of  "  Marse  Basil's  "  real  reason  for  sum 
moning  them.  The  general  impression  was  that  some  seri 
ous  fault  had  been  committed  by  one  of  their  number,  and 
that  "  Marster  "  was  about  to  make  an  investigation.  They 
questioned  each  other  cautiously  in  the  vain  effort  to  dis 
cover  the  identity  of  the  imaginary  culprit. 

When  the  last  straggler  had  taken  his  place  in  the  ranks, 
Basil  advanced  to  the  quadrangle  gate  and  stepped  upon  a 
large  stone,  used  as  a  carriage  block,  so  that  all .  might  see 
him.  The  negroes,  who  had  been  chattering  volubly,  sub 
sided  at  once  into  quiet  and  attention. 

When  Basil,  in  a  few  words,  had  explained  that  they  were 
free,  and  that  each  family  was  to  have  a  house  and  lot,  the 
negroes  burst  into  a  shout  of  joy.  They  had  been  happy 
enough  as  slaves  under  "  Marse  Basil's  "  strict  but  kindly 
rule,  but  freedom  seemed  to  them  to  hold  out  delightful  pos 
sibilities  of  ease,  of  idleness,  of  independence.  "  Give  God 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  267 

de  glory  1 "  screeched  a  withered  crone.  The  whole  assem 
blage  took  up  the  cry,  and  shouted,  with  one  accord,  "  Give 
God  de  glory  1  " 

Some  of  the  older  negroes  pressed  forward  to  testify  their 
gratitude  to  "  Marse  Basil,"  and  as  he  offered  them  his 
hand,  saying,  "  I  am  going  away  to  the  war,  good-bye,"  they 
grasped  it,  one  after  the  other,  murmuring  some  homely 
phrase  of  greeting  and  farewell.  Old  Bantam,  the  patriarch 
of  the  Quarter,  raised  his  trembling  hands,  and  said,  "  May 
de  good  Lawd  shine  upon  yo'  face  fur  ebbcr  mo',  Young 
Marse !  "  Others  exclaimed,  "  God  bless  yer,  Marse  Basil — 
don't  forgit  er  po'  ole  nigger,"  or  "Good luck  ter  you,  Young 
Marse,  en'  ef  dar's  enny  lovin'  thing  I  kin  do,  you  knows 
whar  ter  find  it." 

Basil's  nurse  in  childhood,  Melindy,  a  short,  chunky  dame, 
waited  until  the  last,  and  then  waddled  up  to  him  with  an 
air  of  great  importance.  Her  eyes  twinkled  with  delight, 
and  when  she  had  clasped  his  hand  in  her  toil-roughened 
palms,  she  hesitated  a  moment,  as  though  half  afraid,  and 
then,  with  a  sudden  dive,  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  it.  With  a 
sidelong  glance  about  her  to  see  that  no  one  observed  the 
act — it  would  lose  its  potency  if  not  done  secretly — she 
slipped  into  Basil's  hand  a  tiny  bag  of  black  silk. 

"  Dat's  er  cunjered  bag,  honey,"  she  whispered,  in  an 
awe-stricken  tone,  "  Ole  Man'l  chawmed  it  fur  me.  Hang 
it  roun'  yo'  neck  fur  Ole  Nuss's  sake.  Hit'll  bring  yer 
good  luck  sho',  en '  send  de  bullets  flyin'  wide  o'  de 
mark." 

Basil  humoured  her  by  accepting  her  talisman.  He  knew 
he  would  distress  her  sorely  if  he  refused  it ;  it  were  quite 
hopeless  to  attempt  to  convince  her  of  the  inefficacy  of  the 
treasured  "  chawm."  Melindy  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
relief,  and  in  a  strange  singsong,  broke  forth  into  the  quaint 
invocation — 


268  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  May  yer  fus'  days  be  yer  wus', 
Yer  las'  days  yer  bes', 
En'  Heav'n — may  it  be  yer  place  uv  res'  1 " 

Convinced  that  "  Marse  Basil  "  was  now  proof  against  ill- 
fortune,  Melindy  bobbed  her  best  curtsey,  and  wheeling 
about,  marched  off  to  her  companions  with  her  turbaned 
head  thrown  proudly  back  and  her  black  face  shining  with 
triumph.  "  He  wuz  my  nuss  child  1  "  she  exclaimed,  exult- 
ingly ;  "  but,  fo'  de  Lawd,  when  I  toted  him  in  dese  arms,  I 
never  'spected  he'd  some  day  give  us  our  freejum  1  " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

Now  that  the  die  was  cast,  Basil  was  eager  to  get  away 
with  the  least  loss  of  time.  Every  day's  delay  meant  added 
anxiety  for  him  lest  he  be  brought  into  contact  with  his 
former  friends.  The  Colonel  paid  several  visits  to  Basil's 
father  in  the  hope  of  enlisting  his  aid  in  "  bringing  Basil  to 
his  senses,"  but  Mr.  Kent  stood  firm.  On  these  occasions, 
Basil  succeeded  in  avoiding  the  Colonel.  He  knew  that  noth 
ing  would  come  of  a  meeting  but  added  pain.  Within  a  week, 
he  had  arranged  his  affairs,  and  was  ready  to  start.  He  was 
spared  the  sorrow  of  many  leave-takings.  There  was  but  a 
single  house — the  Rectory — at  which  he  felt  he  would  be 
really  welcome.  Even  the  Colonel  had  expressed  himself 
with  some  bitterness  when  Mr.  Kent  told  him  of  Basil's 
determination  to  take  up  arms  for  the  "  Yankee "  cause. 
It  was  hard  for  Basil  to  pass  the  Manor  on  the  road  to  the 
Rectory  and  not  stop  at  the  gate.  As  he  rode  slowly  by 
and  turned  in  his  saddle  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  spot  which 
was  hallowed  by  so  many  tender  memories,  the  consciousness 
of  all  he  had  had  to  give  up  was  brought  home  to  him  with 
sudden  acuteness.  Was  he  Quixotic  ?  Perhaps.  And  yet, 
he  could  not  have  acted  differently.  Honour  held  him  fast. 
There  was  no  other  way.  He  rode  on  past  the  Manor  with 
set  face  and  a  keener  pain  at  his  heart. 

Judith  was  at  home  with  the  Rector,  in  the  latter's  study, 
writing  a  sermon  from  his  dictation.  She  often  did  this  in 
order  to  spare  his  eyes  which  had  troubled  him  of  late. 
It  was  a  strange  occupation  for  the  brilliant  stage  beauty, 
and  she  was  fully  conscious  of  the  irony  of  it,  but  what  did 
it  matter,  if  she  helped  the  good  old  man  who  was  so  tenderly 

269 


2/0  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

kind  ?  The  sermon  happened  to  be  an  elaborate  defence  of 
slavery  reinforced  by  various  Biblical  quotations.  The 
Rector  was  an  ardent  Secessionist.  He  had  originally  been 
a  Federalist,  and  was  reputed  to  have  owed  his  selection  by 
the  vestry,  some  fifty  years  before,  to  this  fact.  At  any  rate, 
Judge  Cheston,  representing  the  vestry,  had  written  to  the 
Bishop  asking  him  to  recommend  a  good  Federalist,  and 
the  Bishop  had  nominated  Mr.  Magruder.  The  latter's 
predecessor  had  been  "  a  warm  Democrat,"  and  had  given 
great  offence  to  his  chief  parishioners  who,  with  scarcely 
an  exception,  were  staunch  Federalists.  The  Judge  frankly 
told  the  Bishop,  of  whose  sympathy  he  seems  to  have  been 
quite  sure,  that  the  good  churchmen  of  the  parish  pre 
ferred  a  Federalist  for  the  reason  that,  if  the  new  Rector 
were  pious  and  sensible,  "  the  circumstance  of  his  being 
a  Democrat"  would  "give  strength  and  countenance  to  a 
bad  cause."  From  the  Federalist  ranks,  the  Rector  had 
passed  into  those  of  the  Whigs,  but  when,  after  the  down 
fall  of  the  latter,  the  sectional  issue  became  acute,  he  was 
converted  into  a  radical  "  States'  Rights  "  and  pro-slavery 
man.  As  he  greeted  Basil,  the  idea  occurred  to  him  to  read 
his  sermon  to  him.  If  anything  could  move  him,  that  ought 
to  do  so ;  its  reasoning,  in  the  Rector's  opinion,  was  unan 
swerable.  On  reflection,  however,  he  decided  to  have  a 
little  talk  with  him ;  perhaps  he  could  accomplish  more  by 
persuasion. 

To  his  great  surprise,  as  soon  as  he  broached  the  subject, 
Judith  took  up  the  cudgels  in  Basil's  behalf  and  strongly 
defended  his  course. 

"  Dear  me,"  the  Rector  exclaimed,  in  mock  consterna 
tion,  "  I  had  no  idea  I  was  harbouring  a  Yankee  emissary." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  hurried  to  the  door  in  pretended 
anxiety  to  escape  Judith's  onslaught. 

"  I  have  to  make  a  visit  to  a  sick  parishioner  this  after- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  271 

noon,"  he  added,  on  the  threshold.  "  Stay,  Basil,  until  my 
return  ;  I  have  some  arguments  still  left  in  my  ammunition 
chest  that  Judith  won't  find  it  so  easy  to  demolish." 

There  was  innocent  artifice  in  his  sudden  flight.  He  had 
got  the  idea  into  his  head  that  Basil  might  be  in  love  with 
Judith.  It  seemed  impossible,  indeed,  that  it  could  be 
otherwise — she  was  so  charming.  He  hoped  she  might  have 
learned  to  care  for  him  ;  he  had  a  high  opinion  of  Basil. 
Her  sudden  warmth  in  Basil's  defence  confirmed  his  suspi 
cions.  Perhaps,  if  he  left  them  alone  together,  they  might 
come  to  an  understanding.  So  he  hurried  off,  feeling  rather 
guilty  ;  could  it  be  that  he  had  actually  turned  match-maker 
in  his  old  age  ?  Well,  his  conduct  was  anything  but  digni 
fied  and  might  be  said  to  savour  of  deceit,  but  for  Judith's 
sake,  to  secure  her  happiness,  he  might,  perhaps,  be  excused  ; 
the  temptation  was  great. 

"  I  came  to  say  good-bye,"  said  Basil,  as  the  Rector  left 
them.  "  I'm  going  away  to  enter  the  army." 
1  Judith  sprang  up,  terrified.  To  enter  the  army  1  She 
might  have  known  it.  This  man  was  sure  to  be  consistent 
and  follow  an  idea  to  its  logical  end.  He  was  harder,  less 
malleable  than  she  had  hoped.  His  awkward  downrightness 
had  become  more  and  more  apparent  to  her  of  late.  At 
times,  it  had  checked  and  even  paralysed  her.  She  was 
beginning  to  fear  she  had  overrated  her  power  with  him,  or 
could  it  be  that  Lydia,  after  all,  was  stronger  than  she  ?  He 
had  shown  himself  quite  insensible  to  her  blandishments.  He 
had  seemed  to  take  no  heed  of  her  boldest  coquetries.  She 
was  still  only  his  friend  !  She  felt,  as  she  gazed  into  this 
quiet,  resolute  face,  that  it  were  useless  to  seek  to  dissuade 
him.  All  that  she  could  do  was  to  acquiesce  and  wish  him 
a  safe  return.  But  suppose  he  did  not  return  ?  He  would 
never  know  what  she  felt.  He  must  know !  She  could  not 
bear  the  thought  of  his  leaving  her  without  some  inkling  of 


272  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

the  truth.  If  he  carried  away  but  a  germ  of  suspicion,  it 
might  ripen  into  tenderness  at  last. 

She  sat  down  again,  striving  vainly  to  collect  her  thoughts, 
to  form  some  plan.  She  questioned  him  mechanically  as  to 
when  he  was  to  leave,  where  he  was  going,  what  his  purposes 
were,  and  suggested  that  he  seek  the  aid  of  Edgar  Cheston, 
who  had  written  her  he  had  some  influence  in  Washington, 
in  his  effort  to  obtain  a  commission.  His  answers  fell 
vaguely  on  her  ears ;  she  found  it  difficult  to  fix  her  atten 
tion.  All  the  while,  the  thought  was  ringing  in  her  brain, 
what  could  she  do  to  enlighten  him  without  losing  his  con 
fidence,  his  esteem  ?  If  she  had  but  more  time  !  She  was 
almost  tempted  to  risk  all,  to  fling  herself  into  his  arms  and 
proclaim  the  love  and  longing  that  were  torturing  her.  No, 
he  would  only  pity — and  despise  her.  She  couldn't  bear 
that.  She  dared  not  even  indulge  herself  in  an  incautious 
glance,  a  rash  word,  an  informing  gesture.  She  must  sit 
mute  as  to  what  was  vital  to  her,  and  babble  of  indifferent 
things. 

When  the  Rector  returned,  he  was  disappointed  to  find 
that,  apparently,  his  stratagem  had  had  no  results  ;  there 
was  no  indication  in  the  manner  of  either  Judith  or  Basil  of 
what  he  had  hoped  for.  Basil  rose  to  go,  but  Mr.  Magruder 
insisted  upon  his  remaining  for  the  night.  After  supper,  he 
held  him  in  earnest  discussion  until  Judith  finally  rose  and 
withdrew  to  her  room  on  the  plea  of  a  headache.  She  had 
lingered  merely  in  the  hope  that  some  chance  word  might 
give  her  a  clue ;  some  accident  might  come  to  her  aid. 
Nothing  had  happened ;  she  was  at  her  wits'  end,  baffled, 
desperate,  bitterly  contemptuous  of  herself  for  having  failed 
so  miserably. 

The  Rector  found  it  impossible  to  change  Basil's  resolution, 
and  when  his  obstinate  young  friend  rose  at  last  to  say 
good-night,  he  shook  his  head  mournfully,  and  exclaimed, 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  273 

"  It  was  that  Northern  college  that  brought  you  to  this. 
I  always  told  your  father  he  was  making  a  mistake  in  send 
ing  you  to  Harvard." 

"  But  my  father  thinks  as  I  do,"  said  Basil,  amused. 

"  Oh,  that  is  easily  accounted  for !  "  retorted  the  Rector, 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  He  spent  many  years  at  the 
North  and  was  thoroughly  inoculated  with  the  Abolitionist 
virus.  I  have  always  thought  it  a  misfortune  for  Southern 
men  to  go  North  at  all." 

Judith  had  not  gone  to  bed.  She  was  sitting  in  her  room, 
partly  undressed,  and  had  thrown  a  dressing  gown  about 
her.  Why  she  waited,  she  did  not  know.  There  was  no 
hope  of  seeing  Basil  again  that  night.  He  would  soon  be 
in  bed  and  dreaming  of  Lydia — perhaps.  If  she  could  only 
think  of  something  she  could  do.  There  was  nothing,  she 
told  herself  fiercely,  that  she  would  not  do,  no  trick  she 
would  not  practise  upon  him,  if  it  offered  the  slightest  chance 
of  bringing  her  closer  to  him  without  exposing  her  to  the 
danger  of  a  repulse.  But  none  suggested  itself  that  was 
not  instantly  rejected  as  impracticable.  She  was  fatally 
hampered  by  the  dread  of  making  some  false  move  that  would 
separate  her  from  him  forever. 

At  last,  she  heard  Basil's  step  upon  the  stairs.  It  drew 
nearer,  and  then  died  away  as  he  entered  his  room  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hall.  He  was  there — so  near  her,  yet  so 
remote.  Ah,  had  she  but  the  power  to  compel  him  I  Furi 
ous  with  the  sense  of  her  impotence,  she  rose  and  paced 
restlessly  up  and  down  the  room.  What  a  beautiful  crea 
ture  she  was  as  she  moved  with  swift,  impetuous  step  to  and 
fro,  her  finely  modelled  figure  showing  its  graceful  lines  under 
the  loose,  flowing  robe ;  her  sunny  hair  tossed  in  a  glitter 
ing  mass  about  her  shoulders ;  her  lovely  face  aflame  with 
pain  and  passion. 

Presently,  she  paused  near  the  door.  It  was  ajar,  and 
18 


274  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

through  the  crack,  she  saw  that  Basil's  door  was  partly  open. 
Looking  again,  she  saw  Basil  himself;  he  was  seated  at 
a  window,  smoking.  Stretching  out  her  rounded  arms, 
which  were  bare  to  the  elbows,  the  loose  sleeves  having 
fallen  back,  she  seemed  to  beckon  him  to  her,  and  stood 
gazing  at  him  with  a  look  of  invitation  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  resist.  But  he  did  not  see  her,  he  did  not  feel  her 
presence  palpitating  with  entreaty.  She  was  about  to  turn 
away,  with  a  sob,  when  a  light  shone  suddenly  in  her  violet 
eyes  and  gave  them  the  brilliancy  of  sapphires.  "  I  have 
found  a  way — the  only  way  1 "  she  said,  with  a  catch  in  her 
breath.  "  He  knows  I  walk  in  my  sleep ;  I  have  often  told 
him  so.  I  may  say  things  in  a  pretended  trance  that  I 
would  not  dare  to  utter  if  he  thought  I  knew.  He  may  dis 
cover  the  cheat,  but  I  don't  think  he  will.  He  believes  in 
me  so  thoroughly  that  I  would  have  to  be  clumsy,  indeed,  to 
excite  his  suspicions." 

It  was  merely  a  bit  of  acting.  She  had  often  succeeded 
in  far  more  difficult  tasks  on  the  stage.  She  had  but 
to  summon  to  her  aid  the  simplest  elements  of  her  art. 
Nevertheless,  she  hesitated.  It  was  no  longer  fear  that 
restrained  her,  but  an  instinct  of  repulsion  which  surprised 
her.  An  inconvenient  scrupulousness  had  been  born  in  her, 
without  her  knowledge.  A  month  or  two  ago,  she  would 
have  done  the  thing  lightly,  without  the  least  compunction, 
careless  of  everything  but  the  quick  fulfilment  of  her  object. 
Now,  she  recoiled  from  the  thought  of  adding  to  her  load  of 
deceit,  of  profiting  by  a  stratagem  inconsistent  with  the  char 
acter  she  had  assumed,  which  every  day  was  growing  more 
real.  The  Rector's  influence ;  her  association  with  Basil ; 
the  new  standards  of  conduct  to  which  she  had  had  to  con 
form  with  daily  iteration,  had  gradually  won  upon  her  in 
spite  of  the  conviction  that  she  could  not  afford  to  yield 
to  them.  There  were  times  when  she  almost  believed  in 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  275 

Judith  Cheston,  as  others  believed  in  her;  when  she  lost 
all  sense  of  hypocrisy,  and  was  moved  by  impulses  which 
she  would  have  derided  in  what,  she  imagined,  was  her  true 
character — that  of  Ethel  Vane. 

When  she  came  to  herself  after  these  accidental  lapses, 
she  always  laughed.  Of  course,  it  was  only  the  histrionic 
instinct  in  her  1  How  often  she  had  lost  herself  in  the  same 
way  in  some  absorbing  part  I  There  was  not  the  ghost  of 
a  suspicion,  in  her  mind,  of  the  truth.  She  would  have  been 
amazed  and  frightened  could  she  have  guessed  that  she  was 
passing  through  one  of  those  obscure  psychological  processes 
which  gradually  transform  a  nature  into  something  quite 
different  from  what  it  believes  itself  to  be ;  that  she  was  ac 
tually  becoming  sensitive  not  merely  to  what  others  thought 
of  her  but  to  what  she  thought  of  herself ;  that  her  soul,  in 
other  words,  was  seeking  to  break  its  bonds,  to  escape  from 
the  narrow  prison  into  which  it  had  been  cast,  and  to  rise  to 
a  purer  atmosphere,  in  spite  of  the  fetters  that  must  always 
clog  it. 

It  was  this  feeling  that  was  active  in  her  now.  She  shrank, 
with  a  sense  of  disgust,  from  the  gross  indelicacy  of  an  act 
that  must  have  been  impossible  for  a  real  Judith  Cheston  ; 
that  is  to  say,  a  lady,  brought  up  in  the  atmosphere  of  the 
Rectory,  the  Manor — the  kind  of  woman  that  Basil  rever 
enced  in  her.  Reverenced  !  She  tossed  her  head  and  laughed, 
as  she  was  wont  to  do,  at  such  awakenings,  but  with  bitter 
derision  of  herself,  a  fierce  throb  of  pain.  What  else  was 
there  for  her  ?  To  suffer  the  long  agony  of  awaiting  his 
return,  if  he  ever  returned  ?  No  :  rather  than  that,  she 
would  plunge  even  deeper  into  the  mire.  Yes,  better  failure 
and  detection  by  him.  At  least,  he  would  know  of  her  love. 
Whatever  he  might  think  of  her,  he  could  never  again  be 
indifferent ;  it  was  the  barren  dreariness  of  his  ignorance 
she  could  not  face.' 


276  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

A  bit  of  acting  ?  It  was  much  more  than  that.  A  trifling 
part  in  itself,  it  was  true,  but  an  experiment  of  supreme 
importance  for  her.  It  was  not  the  mere  applause  of  a  crowd 
she  would  be  playing  for,  but  the  only  chance  of  happiness 
that  remained  to  her.  Fail  ?  She  could  not  fail.  On  the 
one  hand,  there  was  hope  of  new  life,  of  the  birth  of  a  great 
joy  ;  on  the  other,  death — that  is  to  say,  the  slow  dissolution 
of  all  her  dreams.  With  such  an  issue  at  stake,  what  mat 
tered  shame  to  her  ?  She  would  bury  the  black  memory  of 
it  in  her  heart  where  she  had  hidden  so  many  evil  things  ; 
none  should  ever  know.  She  would  make  him  help  her  to 
forget. 

Fearful  lest  she  should  waver,  she  swept  quickly  across 
the  hall ;  then  paused  a  moment  to  collect  herself,  and  throw 
ing  open  the  door,  advanced  with  slow,  mechanical  step  into 
Basil's  room.  Her  manner  was  automatic,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
vacancy  ;  she  seemed  to  see  nothing,  but  walked  straight  on, 
as  though  obstacles  did  not  exist. 

Basil  heard  her,  and  looked  up,  startled.  In  a  moment, 
he  saw  what  seemed  to  be  the  truth ;  she  was  walking  in  her 
sleep.  Uncertain  what  to  do,  he  rose  hastily,  and  waited. 
Perhaps  she  would  turn  before  reaching  him,  and  go  back 
to  her  room.  But  she  still  came  on.  A  moment  more,  and 
her  arms  were  about  his  neck,  her  head  buried  on  his 
shoulder.  Instinctively,  he  placed  an  arm  about  her  to 
support  her.  She  quivered  at  his  touch.  He  felt  her  heart 
beating  rapidly  against  him.  He  did  not  doubt  for  a  mo 
ment  that  she  was  fast  asleep.  But  why  had  she  come  to 
him  ?  What  was  the  meaning  of  her  unconscious  abandon  ? 
Could  it  be  that  she  cherished  a  warmer  feeling  for  him 
than  he  had  imagined  ?  No  ;  that  were  absurd.  If  Lydia, 
with  the  affection  of  years  in  his  favour,  could  be  as  insensible 
to  him  as  she  had  proved  to  be,  was  it  likely  that  such  a 
woman  as  Judith  would  ever  be  more  than  friendly  ?  He 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  277 

was  not  brilliant,  nor  cultivated,  nor  handsome,  and  a  man 
to  win  her  love,  he  was  sure,  must  be  all  of  these.  He  must 
guide  her  back  to  her  room,  if  he  could.  He  fervently  prayed 
he  might  succeed  in  doing  it  without  waking  her,  so  that  she 
would  not  be  exposed  to  the  mortification  of  learning  what 
she  had  done.  But  before  he  could  make  the  attempt,  she 
began  to  speak. 

"  You  do  love  me,  Basil !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  hoarse, 
quivering  voice.  "  Thank  God,  you  told  me  before  it  was  too 
late  1  I  feared  you  would  go  away  without  speaking ;  that 
you  didn't  care  for  me,  enough.  It  was  terrible ;  do  you 
know  I  came  near  breaking  down  and  begging  you  for  a 
word  ?  Yes,  I  craved  even  your  pity !  " 

Her  arms  tightened  ;  she  drew  his  head  slightly  down  to 
wards  her,  as  if  to  kiss  him. 

Basil  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment,  not  unmixed  with  a 
sudden  sense  of  attraction.  Even  though  he  believed  her 
to  be  unconscious,  he  felt  the  thrill  of  what  seemed  to  be 
an  impetuous  surrender  of  herself  to  him.  She  was  very 
beautiful.  For  the  first  time,  he  was  fully  sensible  of  her 
physical  charm.  He  was  ashamed  of  the  feeling — it  seemed 
a  gross  infidelity  to  Lydia.  Was  he  so  fickle  ?  No  ;  that 
could  not  be,  but  he  was  human.  How  could  he  have  resist 
ed  such  loveliness  rejoicing  in  his  imagined  passion  ?  He 
had  been  taken  by  surprise ;  he  was  off  his  guard.  For  a 
moment,  his  senses  were  held  captive ;  he  felt  a  stormy 
impulse  to  press  her  to  him.  The  temptation  passed  as  he 
looked  down  at  her  white,  set  face.  She  did  not  know ;  she 
was  irresponsible.  It  was  as  though  he  held  an  innocent, 
thoughtless  child  in  his  arms.  But  her  words — could  it  be, 
after  all,  that  they  expressed  a  latent  inclination  unknown, 
in  her  conscious  moments,  to  herself  ?  Was  it  possible  she 
had  unwittingly  exposed  to  him  the  secret  places  of  her 
heart  ?  A  wave  of  ardent  gratitude  swept  over  him  at  the 


278  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

thought.  Ought  he  not  to  be  proud  and  glad,  to  feel  himself 
supremely  honoured,  if  even  for  a  moment,  she  bestowed 
upon  him  a  feeling  tenderer  than  any  he  had  ever  known  ? 
But  he  must  not  think  of  this ;  he  must  act.  The  situation 
must  not  be  prolonged  ;  it  would  not  be  fair  to  her.  He 
ought  to  lose  no  time  in  persuading  her,  if  possible,  to 
return  to  her  room. 

"  Come  with  me,  Judith,"  he  said  softly,  wondering 
whether  she  would  hear  and  understand. 

"  Willingly,"  she  answered,  looking  up  at  him  and  smil 
ing  dreamily,  with  half  closed  eyes,  "  to  the  end  of  the 
world  !  " 

Supporting  her  with  his  arm,  he  led  her  slowly  to  the  door. 
They  were  barely  outside  his  room,  when  a  step  was  heard. 
It  was  the  Rector  coming  upstairs.  At  that  moment,  Judith, 
shivering,  seemed  to  awake.  Looking  round  her  with  a 
startled  air,  she  exclaimed,  "  Where  am  I  ?  What  has 
happened?  "  But  she  made  no  effort  to  release  herself. 
On  the  contrary,  she  hung  upon  him  more  heavily,  as  if 
trusting  herself  entirely  to  him. 

The  Rector's  step  grew  nearer.  Basil  was  in  an  agony  of 
fear.  What  should  he  do  ?  The  Rector  would  be  upon 
them  before  Judith  could  escape.  What  would  he  think 
when  he  saw  her  in  his  arms  ?  But  one  thing — of  course. 
How  could  he  doubt  they  loved  each  other  ?  And  Judith  ? 
She  was  awake,  and  she  still  clung  to  him.  The  fact  touched 
him  with  the  sense  of  an  instinctive  appeal.  He  must  shield 
her,  whatever  might  be  the  consequence  to  him. 

"  Something  of  great  importance  to  me  has  happened, 
Judith,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  I  have  discovered  that  I  cannot 
go  away  without  asking  you  to  be  my  wife." 

"  But  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Judith,  nervously — the 
strain  was  telling  on  her — "  just  now,  I  dreamed " 

"  That  I  cared  for  you  ?     It  was  not  a  dream.     Am  I 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  279 

presumptuous  ?  Would  it  be  possible  for  you  to  be  some 
thing  more  than  a  friend  to  me  ?  " 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Basil  ?  "  she  demanded,  trembling. 

"  Never  more  so,"  he  answered  gravely,  "  how  I  wish  I 
had  more  to  offer  !  As  you  know,  I  have  wasted  my  sub 
stance  on — on  some  one  else.  You  see,  I  do  not  pretend.  I 
am  a  shipwrecked  man — a  beggared  castaway,  abandoned 
by  those  who  are  dearest  to  me.  But  you  have  not  deserted 
me — you  still  give  me  sympathy,  approval,  help.  If  I  could 
carry  away  with  me  the  assurance  that  they  would  always  be 
mine,  that  I  might  look  forward  to  returning  some  day  to 
claim  you  for  the  rest  of  our  lives,  I  would  feel  myself  to  be 
a  fortunate  man.  I  have  at  least  this  to  offer — a  devotion 
that  would  strive  untiringly  to  make  you  happy." 

Judith  shrank  from  him  ever  so  slightly.  It  was  not  mere 
devotion  she  craved,  and  yet,  it  was  more — far  more — than 
she  had  dared  to  hope  for.  He  was  ready  to  link  his  life  to 
hers.  As  she  looked  at  him,  wondering,  she  saw  he  was 
almost  eager.  He  was,  in  fact,  strongly  moved.  True,  as 
he  had  intimated  with  unnecessary  candour,  he  did  not  love 
her;  but  he  had  caught  the  infection  of  her  beauty,  her 
charm,  her  tender  graciousness,  and  he  found  himself,  for 
the  moment,  imagining  he  might  learn  to  love  her.  Amid 
the  wreckage  of  his  hopes,  the  thought  was  really  alluring. 
She  had  understood  and  sympathised  with  him  as  no  other 
woman  had  ever  done  ;  she  had  given  him  a  confidence  in 
himself  which  had,  hitherto,  been  painfully  lacking  in  pres 
ence  of  her  sex ;  she  Was  the  only  individual,  besides  his 
father,  who  had  applauded  his  course  and  sought  to  stimu 
late  his  courage.  He  would  never  be  lonely  with  her  at  his 
side.  His  future  brightened  at  the  thought. 

And  to  make  her  happy — what  duty,  if  she  loved  him, 
could  be  more  urgent,  more  binding  ?  She  was  so  far  be 
yond  his  deserts  that  it  seemed  an  impertinence  in  him  to 


280  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

consider  it  a  duty,  a  thing  requiring  effort.  And  yet  he 
could  not  hide  from  himself  the  fact  that  it  would  not  be 
easy  to  free  himself  from  those  dreams  of  another  kind  of 
happiness  which  still  haunted  him — yes,  even  now,  in  her 
presence.  A  truce  to  dreams  !  Who  was  he — a  battered 
derelict — to  hesitate  between  the  royal  gift  she  offered  him 
and  the  mere  memory  of  something,  indescribably  rare  and 
precious  though  it  was,  that  could  never  be  his  ?  He  ought 
to  go  down  on  his  knees  and  thank  her  for  having  taken 
pity  on  him.  And  she  had  said  she  craved  his  pity.  Pity 
for  what  ?  For  having  been  so  rash,  so  prodigal,  so  undis- 
criminating,  as  to  prefer  him  to  other  men  ?  He  actually 
felt  for  her,  at  the  moment,  a  kind  of  passion — the  passion 
of  a  tenderness,  born  of  her  wonderful  generosity  to  him, 
such  as  often  moves  a  fine  nature  like  his  to  its  depths. 
She  had  asked  him,  anxiously,  if  he  were  in  earnest.  Well, 
if  he  ever  faltered,  she  should  not  know  it.  Any  sacrifice 
should  be  easy  for  her  sake.  If  it  were  necessary  to  re 
assure  her,  he  must  even  be  prepared  to  simulate  a  feeling  re 
sponsive  to  all  her  demands.  He  might  have  to  do  that  if 
she  exacted  too  much  before  he  had  effectually  disciplined 
himself.  There  were  limits  to  veracity  that  seemed  per 
missible — even  obligatory — in  such  a  case. 

His  exaltation  caused  Judith's  heart  to  leap  with  hope. 
Unwittingly,  she  had  touched  the  very  chords  in  his  nature 
which  would  vibrate  most  sensitively  in  unison  with  her 
needs.  She  had  appealed  to  his  chivalry,  his  compassion, 
his  sense  of  gratitude,  his  craving  for  sympathy  ;  she  might 
hope  to  fan  these  into  a  steady  flame  of  love.  For  one 
glorious  moment,  she  had  been  conscious  of  an  impulse  of 
passion  in  him ;  but  she  did  not  deceive  herself — it  was 
only  a  spark  which  she  had  accidentally  struck  from  the 
baser  ore.  His  integrity  was  her  real  reliance.  He  had 
pledged  himself  to  her,  he  would  try  to  love  her.  She 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  281 

smiled  bleakly  at  the  thought  that  it  would  be  a  point  of 
honour  with  him.  The  very  quality  in  him  she  had  dreaded 
would  make  in  her  favour. 

"  If  I  could  make  you  happy  1 "  she  whispered,  hiding  her 
face  on  his  breast.  How  she  wished  she  could  feel  the 
modesty  she  feigned.  For  his  sake,  she  wanted  to  be  what 
she  seemed.  She  was  really  confused,  and  even  timorous. 
The  complete  success  of  her  daring  manoeuvre  frightened 
her.  He  must  not  see  her  face,  just  yet ;  it  seemed  to  her 
he  must  read  her  thoughts  in  it.  It  was  not  enough  to  have 
deceived  him ;  she  must  keep  him  blind.  After  this,  he 
would  hate  her  if  he  ever  learned  the  truth. 

The  Rector  had  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs.  He  was 
holding  a  candle  above  his  head  to  light  his  uncertain  steps. 
In  its  flickering  glow,  he  beheld  Judith  and  Basil  but  dimly 
at  first.  Coming  closer,  he  perceived  that  they  stood  wait 
ing  for  him,  Basil's  arm  clasped  close  around  Judith's  waist. 
The  ambiguity  of  their  position  here,  at  this  hour,  with 
Judith  in  dishabille,  did  not  strike  him.  He  saw  only  that 
his  hopes  had  been  realised  ;  that  they  had  come  to  an  un 
derstanding. 

"  Can  you  give  her  to  a  Yankee,  sir  ?  "  asked  Basil,  forc 
ing  a  smile. 

Tears  came  into  the  Rector's  eyes ;  he  could  scarcely 
speak. 

"  If  she  were  not  a  partisan  of  yours  already,"  he  said  at 
last,  with  an  attempt  at  humour,  "  I  might  hope  she  would 
help  me  to  convert  you,  yet." 

Judith  left  Basil's  side  and  hastened  to  him. 

"  You  do  not  refuse  him,  grandfather  ?  "  she  asked,  giving 
him  a  grateful  kiss,  "  I  am  a  happy  woman  1  " 

"  God  grant  you  may  ever  be,  my  darling  1  "  said  the 
Rector,  embracing  her  tenderly. 

With  a  softly  murmured  "good-night,"  Judith  turned  and 


282  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

hastened  to  her  room  ;  she  was  nearly  spent.  On  the 
threshold,  she  paused  and  threw  a  glance  of  mingled  love 
and  gratitude  at  Basil.  "  Good-night,"  she  repeated,  inclin 
ing  her  head  to  him,  almost  humbly. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said. 

Safe  in  her  room,  Judith  flung  herself  exhausted  into  a 
chair.  "  The  best  piece  of  acting  I  ever  did  I  "  she  ex 
claimed,  with  a  harsh,  discordant  laugh.  "  And  it  was  good 
because  it  was  not  all  acting,  either.  I  felt  what  I  seemed 
to  him  to  dream.  I  have  known  what  it  is  to  live ! "  For  a 
moment,  she  was  confident,  happy  ;  then,  her  fears  returned. 
"  He  must  never  know,"  she  murmured.  His  simple  faith 
in  her — a  faith  which  had  accepted  her  subterfuge  at  once, 
without  a  trace  of  doubt  or  even  scrutiny,  as  something  that 
must  necessarily  be  real — awakened  new  aspirations  in  her. 
Ah,  if  she  could  but  keep  him  as  he  was — unsuspecting,  rev. 
erent  of  her,  untouched  by  her  shame  !  He  would  always 
be  true  to  her — if  he  never  knew.  She  would  be  true  to  him, 
in  so  far  as  she  could.  It  was  impossible  to  wipe  out  the 
past,  to  throw  off  her  disguise ;  but  if  loving  service,  counting 
no  sacrifice  or  cost,  could  absolve  her,  she  might  hope  some 
day  to  feel  that  she  had  atoned  to  him  for  her  deceit.  The 
light  by  which  she  would  steer  her  course  would  be  what  he 
wished,  what  he  believed  in  and  respected.  That  should  be 
the  only  law  for  her.  Deep  down  in  her  heart,  lay  the  hope 
that  she  might  be  able,  in  spite  of  all,  to  prove  herself  not 
wholly  unworthy  of  him.  She  could  even  imagine  the  pos 
sibility  of  becoming,  not  good  as  the  world  defined  good 
ness — she  could  never  be  that — but  responsive  to  his  im 
pulses,  his  ideals,  the  sharer  of  even  his  sterner  views  of 
duty,  because  they  were  his. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

As  yet,  Oswald  Reeve  had  had  no  opportunity  of  learn 
ing  the  effect  on  Lydia  of  Basil's  avowal  at  the  dinner. 
Burning  with  impatience,  he  nevertheless  restrained  himself. 
It  would  not  be  in  good  taste,  he  thought,  to  call  at  the 
Manor  immediately.  Basil  had  been  an  intimate  in  the 
household,  and  doubtless,  the  whole  family  was  in  grief  over 
the  loss  of  one  for  whom  all  had  felt  strong  affection.  But 
while  he  waited,  news  came  to  him  of  Basil's  engagement  to 
Judith  Cheston.  What  a  lucky  change  in  the  situation  1  It 
seemed  almost  providential.  Surely,  this  was  his  oppor 
tunity.  Even  if  Lydia  loved  Basil,  she  must  turn  from  him, 
now,  in  resentment  at  his  open  transfer  of  allegiance  to  an 
other,  and  listen,  if  only  from  pique,  to  his  (Oswald's) 
suit. 

Greatly  encouraged,  he  set  out  for  the  Manor  on  the  after 
noon  of  the  day  of  Basil's  departure  for  Washington  to  apply 
for  a  commission.  Lydia  was  at  home — so  the  servant  told 
him  at  the  door,  adding  that  she  was  somewhere  in  the  garden. 
Oswald  went  in  search  of  her,  and  soon  found  her  under  a 
great  linden  near  a  grape  arbour  at  the  back  of  the  house. 
She  was  seated  in  a  rustic  chair,  an  elbow  resting  on  one 
of  the  arms,  her  hand  supporting  her  head  which  drooped 
rather  wearily.  A  book  lay  open  in  her  lap,  but  her  thoughts 
were  far  away  from  its  pages.  As  it  happened,  Oswald 
could  not  have  found  her  at  a  more  inauspicious  moment. 
Judith  had  just  left  her,  after  telling  her  of  her  engagement 
to  Basil,  and  she  was  suffering  acutely. 

She  was  suffering  the  more  because  she  was  suffering 
dumbly,  and  knew  that  she  must  continue  to  suffer  thus,  to 

283 


284  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

the  end.  Hers  was  a  grief  that  could  be  confided  to  no  one. 
She  might  not  even  whisper  it  to  the  air,  scarce  even  ac 
knowledge  it  to  herself.  Her  maidenly  pride  bade  her  deny 
it,  beat  it  down,  refuse  it  harbour  in  her  most  secret  thoughts. 
Grieve  for  one  who  was  pledged  to  another  ?  The  mere  idea 
was  shameful,  intolerable.  She  had  looked  Judith  calmly  in 
the  eye  and  had  congratulated  her  without  a  tremor.  To 
every  one  else,  she  must  exhibit  the  same  indifference.  She 
would  hate  herself  if  any  one  suspected  her  secret. 

She  had  not  seen  Oswald  coming,  and  when  he  spoke  to  her, 
she  was  taken  by  Surprise.  Annoyed,  she  rose  and  returned 
his  greeting  with  an  air  that  was  chill  and  almost  sullen. 
Why  was  he  here  to  force  her  to  smile  and  be  polite  when 
her  aching  heart  craved  solitude  and  silence  ?  But  recollect 
ing  herself  and  the  courtesy  due  him,  she  pointed  to  an 
empty  chair,  and  said  with  a  feeble  effort  at  gaiety : 

"  You  bring  me  pleasant  news,  I  trust,  Mr.  Reeve.  I  am 
terribly  blue;  only  disagreeable  things  have  happened  of 
late." 

Neither  her  manner  nor  her  words  were  encouraging,  and 
Oswald's  hopes  sank.  But  it  was  too  late  to  draw  back. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  have  no  pleasant  news,"  he  said,  watch, 
ing  her  closely.  "  We  have  both  lost  a  friend — at  least, 
for  a  time ;  Basil  Kent  left  this  morning  to  join  the  Union 
Army." 

He  expected  she  would  show  either  lively  resentment  or 
keen  distress.  To  his  astonishment,  her  face  lit  up,  her  dark 
eyes  glowed,  and  she  exclaimed, 

"  I  am  so  glad  of  that !  It  was  the  only  thing  for 
him  to  do.  He  has  the  courage  of  his  convictions.  I 
honour  him  for  going  ;  he  is  a  noble  fellow.  Ah,  that  I  were 
a  man  that  I,  too,  might  fight  for  the  cause  I  believe  to  be 
just !  " 

She  loved  Basil !     There  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt  of 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  285 

that.  There  was  a  fire  in  her  eyes  which  told  of  admiration 
outweighing  prejudice,  scorning  all  littleness  of  thought  or 
feeling,  and  breaking  impetuously  through  the  trammels  of 
prudence  and  a  woman's  instinctive  reserve.  But  did  she 
know  of  Basil's  engagement  to  Judith  ?  A  glimmer  of  hope 
remained.  He  had  yet  to  gauge  the  nature  of  her  pride. 

"  You  have  heard  of  his  engagement  to  your  cousin  ? " 

The  question  was  a  cruel  one  for  Lydia,  but  she  faced  him 
bravely. 

"  Yes,  Judith  left  me  but  a  moment  ago.  He  will  be  a  for 
tunate  man  if " — here  her  voice  broke  a  little,  in  spite  of 
her  efforts  to  control  it — "  if  he  ever  returns.  Judith  is  a 
charming  girl.  She  is  not  only  very  beautiful,  as  you  know, 
but  lovely  in  every  way,  and  wonderfully  clever." 

Oswald  gazed  at  her  in  mute  surprise.  What  a  brave,  gener 
ous  creature  she  was !  It  was  clear  to  him,  now,  that  the 
quality  in  her  which  had  impressed  him  from  the  first  with 
the  sense  of  impassable  distance  between  them  was  a  native 
loftiness  of  soul  which  hated  all  meanness  or  evasion.  This 
girl  was  not  afraid  to  look  truth  in  the  eye,  even  though  it 
might  stab  her.  She  was  immeasurably  above  him.  There 
could  be  no  real  sympathy  between  them.  Her  spirit 
climbed  fearlessly  to  heights  he  could  never  hope  to 
scale. 

He  did  not  wish  to  scale  them.  He  coveted  her  beauty, 
her  charm,  her  wayward  temper,  even,  which  added  the  spice 
of  uncertainty  to  his  passion,  but  he  felt  he  would  never  be 
able  to  follow  her  in  her  more  intimate  thoughts  and  im 
pulses.  How  could  he  ?  Did  he  not  know  himself  to  be  a 
mere  pretender  ?  Truthfulness,  loyalty,  gratitude — had  he 
not  convinced  himself  that  they  were  but  empty  words  for 
him  in  any  real  crisis  ?  The  only  use  he  could  make  of 
them  was  the  superficial  one  of  social  convention  :  they  were 
virtues  which,  of  course,  he  must  seem  to  cherish  as  badges 


286  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

of  gentility ;  but  there  was  the  bitter  consciousness  that  they 
had  no  power  in  him  against  the  coarse  desires  of  the  flesh. 
He  could  admire  her  proud  sincerity  with  a  keen  feeling  of 
envy — the  worst  of  it  was,  he  was  sensitive  to  fine  impres 
sions — but  in  the  daily  association  of  married  life,  it  might 
be  inconvenient.  He  would  never  rise  above  the  level  of 
material  ease  and  self-indulgence.  Even  if  she  cared  for 
him,  she  must  have  found  this  out  some  day,  and  then 

He  was  seized  with  a  sudden  sense  of  fear.  He  could 
never  face  her  1  How  she  would  despise  him  !  What  must 
be  her  hatred  if,  by  any  chance,  she  discovered  it  was  he 
who  had  driven  the  man  she  loved  away  from  her  and  into 
the  arms  of  another  1  And  he  had  gained  nothing  by  it. 
On  the  contrary,  he  had  hurt  himself.  His  treachery  had 
served  only  to  raise  Basil  in  her  esteem,  to  confirm  her 
in  an  unselfish  devotion  to  him  and  to  make  him  conscious  of 
how  contemptible  he  must  seem  to  her.  Even  if  she  never 
knew  him  for  what  he  was,  there  was  in  her  something  that 
must  always  elude  him,  and  in  himself  a  grossness  which 
would  infallibly  shock  and  repel  her.  None  the  less,  he 
wanted  her.  She  was  so  rare  a  creature  1  As  he  looked  at 
her,  his  passion  flamed  up,  smothering  his  sense  of  guilt,  his 
doubts,  his  dread  of  her  ultimate  perceptions.  For  the  time 
being,  he  might  possess  her.  So  long  as  her  ignorance 
lasted,  she  would  be  his.  Ah,  what  joy  to  hold  captive  this 
ardent  spirit  breathing  infinite  scorn  of  what  he  knew  lay 
dormant  in  him  1 

"  When  are  you  going  South,  Mr.  Reeve  ?  "  asked  Lydia, 
with  a  faint  show  of  interest.  She  did  not  really  care; 
nothing  mattered  much,  now. 

The  question  stung  Oswald.  He  had  professed  himself  an 
ardent  Secessionist,  in  the  hope  of  winning  favour  with  her, 
and  since  his  recovery,  he  had  spoken  frequently  of  his  in 
tention  to  join  the  Confederate  army.  No  doubt,  she  was 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  "287 

mentally  contrasting  his  tardiness  with  Basil's  promptness. 
It  was  clear  she  was  utterly  indifferent  to  him.  She  even 
seemed  inclined  to  chide  him  for  loitering  at  her  side.  What 
chance  had  he  with  a  girl  who  could  thus  coolly  remind  him 
that  he  was  pledged  to  a  duty  which  might  mean  death  ? 
His  idle  fancies  were  swept  away  by  her  words. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said,  stiffening  suddenly.  It  was  all 
over ;  he  might  as  well  go.  It  would  be  a  way  of  gaining 
some  credit  with  her.  "  I  came  to  say  good-bye." 

Lydia  gave  him  her  hand  ;  it  trembled  slightly.  There 
was  a  suppressed  feeling  in  his  voice  which  affected  her  pain 
fully.  A  wounded  heart  is  acutely  sympathethic.  Could  it 
be  that  he  cared  for  some  one  ?  She  reflected  a  moment. 
He  had  not  been  particularly  attentive  to  any  one  but  her 
self,  and  it  had  never  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  very  much 
in  earnest.  She  had  known  that  he  liked  to  be  with  her,  to 
talk  to  her,  and  at  times,  she  had  even  suspected  he  might 
admire  her,  more  or  less.  But  that  he  cherished  a  deeper 
feeling,  she  had  never  dreamed.  No  hint  of  it  had  been 
conveyed  by  his  manner,  which,  from  prudential  motives,  had 
always  been  carefully  guarded.  She  had  thought  of  him 
only  as  a  pleasant  trifler,  a  friend  who  had  certain  claims 
upon  her,  whom  she  had  found  entertaining  and  easy  to  en 
tertain.  It  was  for  this  reason  she  had  accepted  his  atten 
tions  carelessly,  and  even,  in  moments  of  anger  at  Basil,  had 
turned  to  him  with  a  confident  feeling  of  impunity.  Perhaps, 
there  was  latent  in  her  mind,  all  the  time,  the  sense  of  the 
social  difference  between  them.  In  spite  of  her  strong  liking 
for  him,  it  would  have  seemed  improbable  to  her  that  he  could 
ever  think  seriously  of  asking  her  to  be  his  wife.  After  all, 
he  was  his  father's  son.  But  whatever  the  cause,  it  was 
evident  he  had  met  with  some  disappointment  that  had  made 
him  unhappy.  A  sudden  pity  welled  into  her  eyes  ;  for  the 
moment,  they  were  almost  tender. 


288  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Reeve,"  she  said,  in  her  gentlest  voice. 

Oswald  took  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him  and  clasped  it 
mechanically.  It  was  not  thus  he  had  hoped  it  might  be 
given  him — merely  in  token  of  farewell.  Her  compassion 
hurt  him.  It  seemed  to  him  to  emphasise  the  absurdity  of 
his  hopes,  the  finality  of  their  parting. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said,  and  dropping  her  hand,  he  bowed 
and  left  her. 

Lydia  watched  him  mournfully  until  he  had  disappeared 
within  the  house.  She  glanced  about  her  at  the  bright  mid 
summer  beauty  of  the  garden,  feeling  even  more  miserable 
and  forlorn  than  before.  Why  was  life  so  lovely  and  yet  so 
sad  ?  It  was  all  a  strange  puzzle.  She  had  once  been  so 
keenly  alive  to  the  charm  of  the  quaint  old  garden,  but  now, 
she  derived  no  pleasure  from  it.  There  was  only  a  dull  feel 
ing  of  apathy.  And  yet,  it  almost  seemed  as  though  it 
were  trying  to  look  its  best  to  rouse  her.  Seldom  had  she 
beheld  it  in  a  brighter  setting.  The  sun,  blood-red,  was 
sinking  in  a  mass  of  violet  cloud  whose  edges  were  tipped 
with  silver.  In  a  clear  open  space  above,  a  fleecy  fragment 
was  caught  up  in  graceful  folds,  as  of  delicate  lace.  Fireflies 
twinkled  among  the  box-trees  and  trailed  their  flash-lights  over 
the  smooth  turf  at  her  feet.  A  polished  horseshoe,  hanging 
by  a  nail  from  the  gray  trunk  of  the  linden,  caught  the  red 
rays  of  the  sun  and  glowed  like  a  monster  ruby.  The  grass 
was  already  damp  with  dew,  and  the  air  was  perfumed  with 
a  cool,delicious  fragrance,  with  a  faint  scent  of  clover  blossoms. 
Here  and  there,  a  gaudy  butterfly  flitted,  pausing  at  some 
flower  to  take  a  last  sip  before  turning  in  for  the  night. 
Suddenly,  a  whip-poor-will,  perched  on  the  roof  of  the  veran 
dah,  sounded  its  shrill,  plaintive  note.  It  seemed  to  her 
to  voice  her  grief,  to  ease  her  heart  a  little.  She  was  grate 
ful  to  the  bird.  There  was  something  sad  in  Nature  too, 
after  all ;  it  wasn't  quite  insensible  to  her  anguish.  The 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  289 

whip-poor-will  uttered  for  her  the  rebellious  cry  of  her  heart 
against  fate. 

Oswald  hurried  away  from  the  Manor,  driven  by  a  fierce 
eagerness  to  plunge  into  some  kind  of  rashness,  he  knew  not 
what.  He  was  willing  enough  to  go  South,  now — there 
would  be  plenty  of  distraction  there — but  if  only  something 
would  happen  on  the  way !  He  dug  his  spurs  into  his 
horse  and  drove  him  on  furiously,  almost  hoping  he  would 
run  away  with  him  and  beat  his  head  against  a  tree  or  fling 
him  into  a  ditch.  At  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road,  he  nearly 
ran  into  Turlo  Cheston,  who,  mounted  on  a  fiery  hunter,  was 
riding  quite  as  recklessly. 

Turlo  pulled  up,  turned,  and  came  back  to  Oswald,  who  had 
also  checked  his  horse. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter  ?  "  demanded  Turlo,  rolling 
heavily  in  his  saddle — it  was  evident,  at  once,  to  Oswald, 
that  he  was  more  than  half  drunk.  "  You  were  riding  like 
mad,  and  look  as  if  you  had  the  Devil  behind  you  I  " 

"  I  have  just  been  at  the  Manor  to  say  good-bye,"  an 
swered  Oswald,  "  I  am  going  South." 

"  Are  you  though  ?  "  said  Turlo,  his  eyes  gleaming,  "  I'm 
about  to  start  myself;  we  might  go  together." 

He  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  of  what  had  happened  to 
Oswald.  For  some  time,  he  had  seen  quite  clearly  that 
Oswald  was  heels  over  head  in  love  with  Lydia,  and  he 
made  no  doubt  that  he  had  tried  his  luck  and  failed.  Of 
course,  he  had  failed.  He  liked  Oswald  well  enough,  but 
what  could  the  fellow  expect  ?  How  absurd  to  suppose  that 
Lydia  could  care  for  him !  He  was  handsome,  agreeable, 
everything  a  girl  could  wish  for,  but  he  was  a  Reeve. 
The  idea  of  his  marrying  a  Cheston,  especially  Lydia,  the 
proudest  girl  alive  !  None  the  less,  he  pitied  Oswald.  He 
knew — only  too  well — what  he  must  be  suffering,  for  he,  him 
self,  was  suffering  in  precisely  the  same  way.  His  beautiful 


290  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

cousin,  Judith,  had  just  jilted  him — yes,  jilted  him,  that 
was  the  word  for  it — in  the  most  cold-blooded  manner.  Turlo 
swore  a  great  oath  at  the  thought.  She  had  led  him  on  to 
think  she  cared  for  him,  had  used  him  to  protect  herself  from 
gossiping  tongues,  and  then,  when  quite  sure  of  her  own  hap 
piness,  had  given  him  the  mitten.  He  harboured  no  thoughts 
of  revenge  against  her.  Her  secret  was  as  safe  with  him  as 
it  had  ever  been — he  was  a  gentleman,  and  he  loved  her — 
but  her  treatment  of  him  was  hard  to  bear.  He  had  gone 
to  her  that  day,  full  of  hope,  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife,  and 
she,  radiant  with  happiness,  had  informed  him,  quite  non 
chalantly,  that  she  had  just  engaged  herself  to  Basil  Kent. 
Oh,  curse  the  luck  1  He  was  ready  for  anything  wild.  He 
had  spent  several  hours  at  a  tavern  drinking  hard,  with  no 
other  result  than  to  inflame  his  wrath.  He  was  ripe  for  any 
mad  adventure.  Go  South  ?  The  very  thing.  There,  men 
were  fighting,  and  riot  reigned.  He  longed  to  be  in  the 
midst  of  it.  He  would  cut,  slash,  tear  things  to  pieces, 
and  perhaps,  be  smashed  by  a  cannon  ball  in  the  glorious 
chaos. 

"  I'm  with  you,  old  fellow  ! "  he  cried,  his  face  aflame. 
"  Say  the  word  !  " 

Oswald  gazed  at  him  with  sudden  sympathy — he  under 
stood.  Turlo's  admiration  for  Judith  had  been  open,  undis 
guised  from  the  first. 

"He,  too,  has  been  hit  hard,"  he  said  to  himself.  "We 
both  seek  the  same  thing ;  we  are  comrades  in  misfortune. 
And  then,  he  is  Lydia's  brother." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you,"  he  said  to  Turlo,  who 
seized  his  hand  and  shook  it  hard. 

Next  morning,  they  set  out  together. 


EDGAR  CHESTON  was  still  in  Washington,  and  seemed,  from 
the  tenor  of  his  occasional  letters  to  Judith,  to  be  absorbed  in 
political  affairs.  She  had  begun  to  hope  that  he  had  found 
a  field  for  his  energies  which  might  prove  more  attractive 
than  even  the  Manor.  He  had  always  loved  power  and  the 
exercise  of  his  talent  for  controlling  men ;  what  more  prob 
able  than  that  he  would  be  tempted  to  enter  the  political 
arena  where  great  opportunities  were  now  presenting  them 
selves  to  unscrupulous  and  daring  spirits,  such  as  his,  in  the 
demoralisation  that  had  already  resulted  from  the  war  ?  If 
this  happened,  he  would  be  likely  to  leave  her  unmolested. 
In  any  event,  he  was  interested  in  strengthening  her  position  ; 
he  would  still  need  money.  He  might  even  be  made  to  see 
that  her  marriage  to  Basil  was  perhaps  the  surest  means  of 
protecting  both  him  and  herself  from  possible  disclosures. 
As  the  wife  of  a  man  of  Basil's  character  and  social  standing, 
she  would  be  doubly  intrenched. 

She  was  mistaken  in  attributing  to  Edgar  any  ambition 
other  than  that  of  obtaining  possession  of  the  Manor. 
Nothing  seemed  to  him  worth  striving  for,  compared  with 
the  satisfaction  of  regaining  what  he  had  lost ;  of  revenging 
himself  upon  those  who  had  made  him  suffer ;  of  becoming 
what  he  had  been  meant  to  be — the  head  of  the  family — in 
spite  of  all.  There  was  still  alive  in  him  a  kind  of  pride — 
a  perverted  form  of  the  family  instinct — which  invested  the 
mere  position  of  Master  of  the  Manor  with  a  consequence, 
an  authority,  a  subtle,  peculiar  influence  that  he  coveted 
with  all  his  soul.  He  had  felt  the  savour  of  it  as  the  ac 
knowledged  heir ;  there  was  no  incense  like  it,  for  him.  He 

291 


292  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

lingered  in  Washington  only  because  he  was  seeking  there 
the  means  of  ensuring  the  success  of  his  plans.  He  had 
seen,  from  the  first,  that  Maryland  would  probably  remain 
in  the  Union — if  not  voluntarily,  then  under  compulsion. 
It  was  clear  to  him  that  the  North  would  not  permit  the  with 
drawal  of  a  State  that  offered  the  only  road  to  the  Federal 
capital,and  he  did  not  doubt  its  power  of  coercion.  He  meant 
to  be  on  the  winning  side  :  he  might  need  help.  The  people 
with  whom  he  would  have  to  deal  at  home  were  all  Seces 
sionists;  if  it  became  necessary  to  put  pressure  upon 
some  of  them — that  slippery  rascal,  Reeve,  for  example — it 
would  be  very  convenient  to  have  the  Government  at  his 
back.  It  were  easy  to  work  in  the  dark.  Nobody  at  home 
need  know.  In  any  event,  it  was  important  to  make  himself 
safe  from  molestation ;  if  he  were  not  known  to  be  loyal, 
some  meddling  provost  marshal  or  spy  might  cause  him 
trouble  just  at  the  moment  when  any  interruption  would  be 
most  embarrassing.  No :  he  was  not  wasting  his  time  in  Wash 
ington — he  was  making  a  distinct  impression  in  official  cir 
cles  ;  more  than  one  member  of  the  Cabinet  had  listened  at 
tentively  to  his  views  as  a  "border  State"  man. 

There  was  another  motive  for  his  return  which  neither 
he  nor  Judith  suspected.  His  interest  in  her  was  deeper 
than  either  of  them  knew.  Judith,  indeed,  was  inclined  to 
think  it  almost  wholly  mercenary.  There  had  been  a  time 
when  she  had  accepted  it  for  something  else.  She  had 
even  flattered  herself  with  the  idea  that  he  really  cared  for 
her  in  a  way,  and  very  strongly.  Her  beauty,  she  was  sure, 
had  power  over  him ;  there  were  symptoms  of  hot  jealousy 
now  and  then.  But  when  he  revealed  himself  as  an  old  man, 
exposing  all  his  ugliness  to  her,  she  concluded  she  had  exag 
gerated  his  feeling.  It  was  merely  sensual  and  subordinate. 
At  any  rate,  whatever  it  was,  it  had  not  been  strong  enough 
to  deter  him.  It  was  evident  he  valued  what  she  could 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  293 

obtain  for  him  more  highly  than  he  valued  her.  The  thought 
gave  her  great  comfort.  If  she  could  but  make  him  see  that 
it  was  to  his  interest,  he  might  even  be  amiable  about  Basil. 
She  little  dreamed  that  his  feeling  for  her  had  only  been 
smothered  for  awhile  by  a  more  engrossing  passion ;  that  it 
needed  but  the  spark  of  jealousy  to  set  it  aflame. 

A  few  days  after  Basil's  departure,  she  was  roused  from 
her  illusions  with  a  roughness  that  startled  her.  A  brief 
note  from  Edgar  informed  her  that  he  had  returned  from 
Washington  and  was  at  the  Manor.  It  ended  with  a  sum 
mons  to  her  to  meet  him  in  a  sheltered  place  behind  the 
church.  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  privately,"  he 
added,  "  we  must  not  be  overheard.  No  house  is  safe — 
especially  the  Rectory,  with  that  prying  Tippett  woman 
about." 

What  did  his  sudden  reappearance  mean?  Perhaps 
Basil,  who  was  now  in  Washington,  had  told  him  of  their 
engagement,  and  he  had  hastened  back  to  put  his  veto  upon 
it,  to  reassert  his  control.  Was  he  afraid  she  would  throw 
him  over  ?  Could  it  be  that  he  did  care ;  that  he  was 
jealous  of  Basil  ?  Fool — as  if  she  could  ever  be  the  same 
to  him !  She  shuddered  at  the  thought  that  if  he  had  con 
ceived  so  absurd  an  idea,  he  might  have  found  some  means 
of  injuring  her  with  Basil — she  knew  how  clever  he  was  in 
sowing  the  seeds  of  suspicion  without  compromising  himself. 
It  would  be  a  difficult  task  for  him  to  discredit  her  and  still 
maintain  the  fiction  of  being  her  father,  but  it  seemed  to  her 
he  might  be  capable  of  even  that.  As  the  hour  he  had  set 
for  the  interview  drew  near,  she  hastened  to  the  appointed 
rendezvous  in  a  fever  of  anxiety. 

The  spot  was  well  chosen  for  secrecy — a  quiet  corner  of 
the  churchyard  screened  by  the  walls  of  the  church  and  a 
tall  hedge  of  cedar.  A  moment  after  her  arrival,  Edgar 
appeared,  forcing  his  way  through  a  narrow  gap  in  the 


294  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

hedge.  He  was  carefully  dressed  as  usual,  and  seemed  in  a 
pleasant  humour. 

"  Punctual  to  the  minute,"  he  exclaimed,  glancing  at  his 
watch.  "  Well  done — for  a  woman." 

He  took  her  hand  and  offered  to  kiss  her,  but  she  drew 
back  quickly,  with  a  gesture  of  repugnance.  He  affected 
to  be  amused,  but  his  eyes  gleamed  angrily. 

"  What,  not  one  kiss  for  your  Father  ?  Well — as  you 
please.  But  really,  you  are  cruel.  I  never  saw  you  look 
better.  Your  life  here  agrees  with  you,  my  dear.  Posi 
tively,  you  are  more  beautiful  than  ever.  It  is  quite  evident 
you  haven't  been  bored.  From  what  I  saw  of  young  Kent 
in  Washington,  I  wouldn't  have  imagined  him  to  be  so  en 
tertaining." 

Judith  winced ;  her  fears  were  not  unfounded.  Basil  had 
spoken  to  him.  What  had  he  said  to  Basil  ?  What  was  he 
about  to  say  to  her  ? 

"  You  won't  interfere  ? "  she  demanded  fiercely,  "  I 
love  him  1  " 

"  Indeed  1 "  said  Edgar,  with  a  sneering  laugh,  "  that's  a 
naive  confession." 

11  You  think  me  incapable  of  loving  ? "  she  said,  bitterly. 
"  You  fancy  you  did  your  work  so  well  that  I  am  wholly 
perverted  ?  I  ought  to  be — you  did  your  best  to  form  me 
on  your  own  model — but  there  is  a  touch  of  natural  feel 
ing  in  me,  still ;  you  didn't  succeed  in  making  me  wholly  bad 
and  artificial — like  yourself." 

"  I  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  your  lack  of  natural 
feeling — for  me,"  he  said,  insolently — she  had  cut  him  to  the 
quick. 

"  I  wouldn't  boast  of  that,  if  I  were  you,"  she  retorted, 
"  You  know  very  well  that  you  imposed  upon  me  ;  that  you 
took  a  base  advantage  of  my  ignorance.  Of  course,  I  was 
attracted  by  you — oh,  you  were  very  clever !  I  never  saw  a 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  295 

more  deceptive  make-up  on  the  stage.  And  how  artfully 
you  humoured  me,  how  adroit  you  were  in  making  me  think 
myself  fortunate — a  girl  who  could  do  anything  she  chose, 
who  could  set  aside  all  ordinary  rules,  whose  only  law  was 
to  please  herself — and  you  1  You  little  dreamed  what  you 
were  doing  when  you  placed  me  among  good  people.  They 
have  opened  my  eyes.  I  know,  now,  what  I  owe  you.  I 
shall  never  forgive  you — never  !  " 

"  Oh,  very  well !  "  said  Edgar,  affecting  to  make  light 
of  it,  "  I'll  try  to  worry  along.  But  really,  you  do  owe  me 
something  for  having  brought  you  here  ;  I  seem  to  have 
let  you  in  for  a  good  thing.  I  must  confess  I  would 
have  hesitated  had  I  known  the  use  you  would  make  of 
your  opportunities.  It  may  play  the  deuce  with  my 
plans  !  " 

In  spite  of  his  pretence  of  indifference,  he  was  alarmed. 
It  was  evident  his  influence  was  seriously  threatened.  She 
would  not  have  been  so  bitter  against  him  if  she  were  not 
enamoured  of  Kent.  It  was  true — as  she  had  said — that 
he  had  fallen  short  of  complete  success  in  "  forming  "  her. 
That  would  have  been  disappointing  enough  in  itself,  but 
this  was  worse — to  find  that  she  was  mutinous,  that  some 
thing  had  wakened  in  her  a  dangerous  spirit  of  resistance. 
He  had  never  counted  upon  this.  He  thought  he  had 
tamed  her  and  made  her  docile  to  his  lightest  wish,  and  lo  ! 
she  had  turned  upon  him.  Had  he  blundered,  after  all,  in 
choosing  her  for  his  confederate  ? 

When  Basil  Kent  had  come  to  him  in  Washington  and 
asked  his  consent  to  his  marriage  with  his  daughter,  he  had 
almost  laughed  in  his  face.  Of  course,  she  was  fooling  this 
guileless  young  countryman.  His  daughter  !  If  the  fellow 
knew  !  What  was  her  game,  he  had  instantly  asked  himself. 
That  she  had  some  practical  end  in  view,  or,  perhaps,  was 
merely  amusing  herself,  he  did  not  doubt.  He  had  hastened 


296  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

to  her  to  satisfy  himself  of  the  real  state  of  things,  and  to 
warn  her  against  committing  any  imprudence.  And  she  had 
the  audacity  to  talk  to  him  of  love.  She  was  actually  in 
earnest.  She,  who  had  been  his  puppet.  He  was  torn 
with  jealousy— the  furious  jealousy  of  an  old  man,  who 
knows  he  has  no  chance  against  a  young  lover.  Her  beauty 
had  intoxicated  him,  long  ago,  and  abusing  his  influence 
over  her  without  the  smallest  compunction,  he  had  moulded 
her  so  cunningly  to  his  passion,  persuading  her  that  most 
men  were  but  replicas  of  himself  and  there  was  nothing 
better  to  look  for,  that  he  had  believed  her  incapable  of 
caring  seriously  for  any  one  else  even  though  she  ceased  to 
care  for  him.  It  maddened  him  to  think  another  man  might 
possess  her.  Until  now,  he  had  not  realised  how  strong  a 
hold  she  had  upon  him  ;  there  was  in  his  mind  so  confident 
a  sense  of  mastery,  that  it  had  been  easy  to  convince  him 
self  she  could  never  wholly  escape  him.  She  might  dislike 
him,  but  she  would  obey.  Like  a  well-trained  animal,  she 
would  come  at  his  whistle.  There  had  been  brutal  pleasure 
for  him  in  the  thought.  To  lose  her  altogether,  to  know 
that  some  one  else  had  power  over  her — a  kind  of  power  he 
had  never  enjoyed — this  brought  to  him  a  sudden,  fierce 
perception  of  the  fact  that  he  wanted  her  for  herself,  not 
merely  because  she  was  useful  to  him.  For  the  moment,  he 
could  conceive  the  possibility  of  letting  everything  else  go  if 
he  might  but  retain  his  hold  upon  her. 

What  folly !  It  was  but  an  idle  whim,  of  course.  He  must 
shake  it  off.  He  was  amazed  and  even  disgusted  with  him 
self.  What — give  way  to  precisely  the  same  sort  of  weakness 
he  had  ridiculed  in  her  ?  Was  it  possible  he,  too,  was 
guilty  of  a  form  of  that  stupid  obsession  called  love  ?  Fudge  ! 
He  was  too  old  a  bird  for  such  nonsense  ;  there  were  seri 
ous  interests  at  stake.  It  was  merely  an  impulse  of  admi 
ration — he  had  always  been  so  damned  susceptible — which 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  297 

he  could  easily  gratify  elsewhere.  There  were  other  women 
as  beautiful,  who  would  not  be  indifferent  to  him.  He  could 
no  longer  deceive  her,  but  it  would  be  easy  to  resume  the 
disguise  of  middle  age  and  play  the  same  trick  over  again 
with  women  who  did  not  know  him.  And  yet,  as  she  con 
fronted  him,  superb  in  her  wrath,  he  was  inflamed  by  the 
desire  to  seize  her  in  his  arms,  to  press  her  lovely  head  down 
by  sheer  force  upon  his  shoulder,  to  tell  her  he  would  never 
give  her  up. 

"  You  really  seem  to  have  a  fancy  for  that  clod  hopper," 
he  said,  with  a  vicious  snarl,  "  what  is  it  you  find  in  him  ? " 

"  Everything  I  failed  to  find  in  you,"  she  exclaimed  hotly, 
resenting  the  slur  on  Basil. 

"  He  must  possess  some  phenomenal  qualities." 

"  They  are  summed  up  in  a  few  words  :  He  is  an  honest 
man." 

"  And  you — are  an  honest  woman  ? " 

Outraged,  she  flashed  upon  him  a  murderous  glance.  The 
wretch — to  ask  this  question  of  her  whom  he  had  degraded ! 
She  felt  as  if  some  loathsome  reptile  had  reared  itself  in  her 
path.  The  words,  the  look,  the  man  himself  were  all  abom 
inable.  The  worst  of  it  was,  he  had  a  kind  of  right  to 
taunt  her.  Had  she  not  obeyed  him  indifferently,  without  a 
struggle  ?  And  he  had  spared  her  in  nothing — nothing ! 
Who  was  she,  he  might  well  ask  her,  to  place  herself  at  the 
side  of  a  man  like  Basil  Kent,  to  claim  his  love,  t  his  confi 
dence  ?  No,  she  could  never  cleanse  herself  from  the  stain 
this  monster  had  put  upon  her,  or  even  forget  it  so  long  as 
he  lived  and  could  remind  her  of  it. 

"  Take  care  !  "  she  cried,  "  you  may  go  too  far  1  " 

There  was  hatred  in  her  eyes,  and  he  saw  it.  For  the 
moment,  she  frightened  him.  He  had  lost  her — that  was 
clear.  He  must  not  lose  the  Magruder  fortune  or  the 
Manor.  He  might  lose  both  unless  he  pacified  her.  Without 


298  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

her,  he  could  do  little  or  nothing.  It  was  hard,,  but  he  must 
give  her  her  head. 

"  I  begin  to  believe  your  forte  is  tragedy,  after  all,"  he 
said,  with  a  clumsy  effort  at  his  former  negligence,  "  how 
ever,  there  is  really  no  occasion  for  playing  heroics  with  me. 
What  difference  does  it  make  what  you  are,  or  what  I  know, 
provided  your  future  husband  doesn't  know,  and  need  never 
know,  if  you  are  prudent  ?  It  happens  that  I  am  the  only 
individual  who  could  supply  him  with  definite  information. 
You  have  been  useful  to  me ;  you  can  be  more  so.  It  is 
true  I  don't  relish  your  sudden  fancy,  but  it  seems  to  have 
taken  such  hold  on  you  that  the  only  thing  for  me  to  do  is 
to  try  and  reconcile  myself  to  it.  Of  course,  you  must  make 
it  worth  the  effort." 

Judith's  eyes  flashed  joy.  He  had  not  betrayed  her  to 
Basil — yet.  He  still  wanted  something  else  more  eagerly 
than  he  wanted  her,  in  spite  of  the  fierce  outburst  of  jealousy 
which  had  so  astonished  and  shaken  her.  If  she  could  pur 
chase  even  comparative  freedom  from  him  for  the  time 
being,  complete  deliverance  might,  some  day,  come.  What 
ever  happened  to  her,  at  least  this  thing  was  precious — that 
Basil  should  not  know.  Let  him  name  his  conditions ! 
There  was  no  price  she  would  not  pay  for  silence,  save  only 
the  renewal  of  the  hateful  intimacy  which,  for  a  moment,  he 
had  seemed  about  to  demand. 

"  You  have  been  prudent,  I  hope  ? "  asked  Edgar  sud 
denly,  struck  by  the  thought  that  she  might  have  confided 
something  to  Basil.  "  You  have  told  him  nothing  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Good  I  You  might  easily  have  wrecked  yourself  with  him 
with  a  word.  My  brother  tells  me  he  is  the '  soul  of  honour.'  " 
Edgar's  lip  curled  derisively.  "  That  means  he'd  never 
pardon  an  indiscretion  in  a  woman." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  "  she  asked,  impatiently. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  299 

"  Oh,  very  little !  "  he  said,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
"  I  merely  wish  to  be  reassured.  I  feared  you  might  have 
lost  your  head.  I  know  something  of  these  infatuations  in 
women.  They  often  blind  them  to  facts.  It  was  necessary 
to  remind  you.  We  are  still  indispensable  to  each  other — 
that  is  all  I  seek  to  make  clear  to  you.  You  admit  it,  don't 
you  ?  I  may  take  it  for  granted  I  may  still  count  upon  your 
help  ;  that  you  will  do  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  winning 
the  stake  we  started  out  to  play  for  ?  You've  changed  so 
much — I  hope  you  haven't  any  foolish  scruples  on  that 
point." 

"  None  at  all,"  she  said,  curtly.  What  a  relief  to  know 
that  it  was  merely  a  question  of  money  I  The  Magruder 
fortune  was  now  a  matter  of  indifference  to  her.  "You 
mean  the  inheritance  ?  "  she  asked,  with  an  air  of  contempt. 
"  You  are  welcome  to  the  whole  of  it." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Edgar  dryly,  "  that  would  hardly  do. 
Your  future  husband  might  think  me  grasping.  Half  of  it 
will  serve  my  purpose  just  as  well.  It  would  look  better  if 
we  took  an  equal  share.  Perhaps,  I  might  claim  as  much 
in  right  of  my  wife." 

"  As  you  will,"  she  answered  carelessly,  "  I  fancy  I  shall 
have  earned  my  share.  There  is  nothing  else  ?  " 

"  Nothing  except  the  inconvenience  I  may  possibly  cause 
some  of  your  new  friends.  You'll  not  mind  that  ? " 

"  If  I  do,  I  shan't  object.  I  ask  but  one  thing  of  you — 
silence ;  you  have  promised  me  that.  Be  sure  I  shall  hold 
you  to  your  word." 

"  Well,  we  understand  each  other.  Our  treaty  is  renewed, 
for  mutual  defence  ?  It  is  merely  a  question,  now,  of  keep 
ing  up  appearances.  This  is  the  last  time,  I  hope,  we  shall 
have  to  hold  a  secret  conference;  it  is  always  dangerous. 
A  word  overheard  might  ruin  all." 

What  a  shock  for  him  had  he  known  that  he  was  even 


300  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

then  being  overheard!  The  eavesdropper  was  the  very 
person  he  had  feared — Mrs.  Tippett.  She  had  accidentally 
entered  the  church  some  minutes  before,  and  hearing  voices 
outside,  had  cautiously  opened  the  vestry  door,  and  peering 
through  the  crack,  had  discovered  Edgar  and  Judith  in  close 
conversation.  Only  fragments  of  sentences  reached  her,  for 
they  had  been  careful  to  draw  away  some  distance  from  the 
church  and  were  speaking  in  lower  tones  than  at  first.  But 
she  had  gleaned  enough  to  rouse  her  suspicions.  A  bargain 
had  been  concluded  between  them  for  the  division  of  the 
money.  Each  of  them  was  to  have  half — in  other  words,  the 
share  she  would  have  received,  had  Judith  never  appeared 
to  claim  the  whole.  What  did  this  mean  ?  And  Edgar — so 
Judith  reminded  him — had  promised  silence  ;  immediately 
afterwards,  he  had  spoken  of  a  treaty  "  for  mutual  defence." 
Why  should  such  a  compact  be  made  between  father  and 
daughter  ?  Clearly,  there  was  something  wrong.  How  un 
fortunate  she  had  arrived  so  late  and  had  heard  so  little  1 
She  waited  anxiously,  hoping  to  hear  more,  but  Judith 
merely  said,  "  I  shall  take  care,  -  for  my  own  sake,  not  to 
compromise  you  ;  I  won't  forget  my  lines  !  "  Edgar  nodded, 
as  if  pleased,  and  then,  they  parted  with  perfunctory  good 
byes,  Judith  going  one  way,  Edgar  another.  There  was  a 
dark  mystery  here — what  was  the  key  to  it  ?  Mrs.  Tippett 
racked  her  brain  for  a  plausible  theory.  Evidently,  there 
was  rascality  at  bottom.  They  wouldn't  have  met  thus 
clandestinely  unless  Edgar  had  some  object  to  gain  that 
wouldn't  bear  the  light.  Was  it  possible  there  was  a  flaw 
in  Judith's  title  to  the  inheritance  ?  Mrs.  Tippett's  heart 
beat  quickly  at  the  thought.  She  would  wait  and  watch. 
The  girl  was  sly — she  had  suspected  it  for  some  time  and 
was  sure  of  it  now — but  she  had  great  faith  in  her  own 
cleverness.  She  had  never  yet  known  a  secret  to  baffle  her 
in  the  long  run.  And  this  time,  she  would  leave  no  stone 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  301 

unturned.  Was  it  not  her  duty  ?  Had  not  her  whole  life 
been  dedicated  to  the  uprooting  of  evil  and  to  "doing 
good  "  ?  A  fortune  might  be  at  stake.  If  she  could  rescue 
it  from  so  notorious  a  loose  liver  as  Edgar  Cheston  and  con 
vert  it  to  worthy  purposes,  would  she  not  be  culpable  if  she 
neglected  any  means  ?  Full  of  righteous  zeal,  she  started  at 
once  upon  her  inquisition,  like  a  hound  upon  the  trail. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

EDGAR  conducted  himself  most  amiably  at  the  Manor.  It 
was  essential,  at  first,  to  win  general  confidence  in  order  that 
he  might  obtain  the  fullest  mastery  of  affairs.  There  was 
plenty  of  time,  for  certain  formalities  must  be  complied 
with  before  the  Magruder  inheritance  could  pass  fully  into 
Judith's  hands.  Until  the  money  was  actually  in  his  posses 
sion,  he  could  take  no  decisive  step.  Meanwhile,  he  could 
well  afford  to  be  ingratiating.  He  wished  to  lead  his  brother 
on  to  further  extravagances  so  that  he  would  compromise 
himself  irretrievably,  and  if  he  could  delude  the  other 
members  of  the  household  by  affecting  to  be  kindly  and  well- 
disposed,  it  would  be  easy  to  make  them  unwitting  accom 
plices  of  his  schemes.  He  was  afraid  of  his  mother's  acute- 
ness  and  took  special  pains  to  please  her.  As  to  the 
Colonel's  wife,  he  had  no  apprehensions.  He  knew  she  mis 
trusted  him,  but  she  could  do  nothing  against  him  without 
endangering  herself. 

In  a  little  while,  he  seemed  to  have  identified  himself 
completely  with  his  brother's  interests.  His  one  object,  to 
all  appearances,  was  to  repair  the  family  fortunes  ;  to  restore 
to  the  Manor  its  old  prosperity.  He  professed  to  his  mother 
the  intention  to  transfer  his  claim  upon  the  property  ulti 
mately  to  his  nephew.  Turlo,  so  that  the  latter  might  succeed 
to  the  estate  unencumbered  by  it.  "  Judith  is  amply  pro 
vided  for,"  he  explained,  "  and  of  course,  I  am  anxious  that 
the  Manor  should  be  held  in  the  family  name.  Turlo  will 
probably  marry  soon.  His  children  will  found  the  family 
anew."  His  wish  seemed  a  natural  one  to  old  Mrs.  Cheston, 
and  was  most  gratifying  to  the  Colonel.  It  was  in  accord 

302 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  303 

with  a  deeply-rooted  instinct  of  the  plantation  class — an  in 
stinct  which  explains  the  tenacity  which  the  old  families  of 
Tidewater  Maryland  exhibit,  even  in  these  days  of  disinte 
gration  and  decay,  in  clinging  to  their  homes. 

So  strong  was  the  feeling  of  local  attachment  and 
family  pride  that,  when  an  old  homestead  was  on  the 
point  of  passing  into  alien  hands,  some  member  was  often 
to  be  found — occasionally  among  far  distant  shoots — to  come 
to  the  rescue  in  order  to  "  keep  it  in  the  family."  It  was 
not  uncommon  to  hear  of  sons  who  had  wandered  off  in 
search  of  fortune  returning,  when  fortune  had  been  secured, 
to  prop  or  renew  the  falling  house.  In  many  instances,  men 
turned  aside  from  professional  or  business  occupations  to 
take  upon  themselves  the  burden  of  extricating  from  debt  an 
estate  which  had  fallen  into  incapable  hands.''  The  feeling 
of  family  obligation  was  stronger  than  the  craving  for  indi 
vidual  success.  The  love  of  the  "  old  place  "  eclipsed  the 
allurements  of  fortune  and  renown.  To  rehabilitate  it  and 
establish  it  once  more  on  a  firm  foundation  was  a  work  of 
blended  love  and  pride  more  tempting  than  anything  the 
world  had  to  offer.  It  was  but  natural  that  Ole  Miss  and  the 
Colonel  should  imagine  Edgar  to  be  actuated  solely  by  these 
motives.  The  truant  had,  in  their  eyes,  merely  returned  to 
do  his  traditional  duty. 

The  Colonel  placed  himself  unreservedly  in  Edgar's  hands, 
with  a  feeling  of  grateful  confidence  and  relief.  Edgar,  he 
argued,  knew  just  what  ought  to  be  done,  and  had  the  power 
as  well  as  the  inclination  to  do  it.  When  Edgar  proposed 
to  advance  further  sums  for  repairs  to  the  buildings  and 
improvement  of  the  land,  he  accepted  the  offer  without  hesi 
tation.  The  additional  burden  of  debt  he  was  assuming 
gave  him  no  concern.  Why  should  it  ?  Edgar  was  inter 
ested,  almost  as  much  as  himself,  in  "  building  up "  the 
estate  for  Turlo.  It  would  have  seemed  absurd  to  him  that 


304  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

any  influence  hostile  to  himself  or  to  Turlo  could  be  work 
ing  in  Edgar's  mind. 

There  was  but  one  person  in  the  household  who  was  not 
deceived.  The  Colonel's  wife  could  not  conquer  her  dread 
of  Edgar.  Every  now  and  then,  it  was  quickened  by  chance 
indications  in  his  manner,  an  incautious  word  or  two,  a 
swift,  inquisitive  glance.  When  they  happened  to  be  alone 
together,  he  was  always  mockingly  deferential,  and  some 
times,  even  tender.  She  was  sure  he  meditated  some  cruel 
form  of  revenge,  yet  nothing  happened.  Week  after  week 
of  suspense  crept  slowly  by,  and  still,  Edgar  gave  no  sign. 
Meanwhile,  his  influence  over  the  Colonel  grew  apace,  and 
she  could  do  nothing  to  put  her  husband  on  his  guard.  How 
could  she  convince  him  her  mistrust  of  his  brother  was 
anything  more  than  a  nervous  caprice  ?  He  would  make 
light  of  her  fears  unless  she  told  him  their  cause,  and  it  was 
precisely  this  she  was  passionately  anxious  to  conceal. 

Little  by  little,  Edgar  absorbed  the  management  of  the 
property  into  his  hands.  He  no  longer  took  the  trouble  to 
pretend  to  consult  the  Colonel,  though  he  talked  farming 
with  him  for  form's  sake  and  because  he  wished  to  avoid 
political  discussions.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  extract 
an  opinion  from  him  upon  public  affairs.  The  Colonel 
chafed  a  little  at  his  lack  of  interest  in  what,  for  him,  was 
the  absorbing  topic,  but  attributed  it  to  his  preoccupation  in 
the  business  of  the  estate. 

The  time  for  action  arrived  at  last.  Within  a  few  months, 
the  Colonel's  indebtedness  had  become  so  great  that  his 
bankruptcy  was  assured,  provided  the  slaves,  who  repre 
sented  his  working  capital,  could  be  taken  from  him.  This 
had  become  a  comparatively  easy  task.  An  encampment  of 
Union  troops  had  been  established  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
negroes  were  flocking  to  it  from  all  parts  of  the  country. 
The  idea  had  spread  among  them  that  not  only  would 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  305 

freedom  be  secured  to  them  by  the  military  arm,  but  the 
federal  government  would  provide  for  all  their  bodily  wants. 
The  prospect  offered  a  tempting  bait.  The  slaves  deserted 
the  plantations  in  droves. 

Edgar  set  to  work  through  the  agency  of  Smyrk,  the  over 
seer,  who,  wishing  to  propitiate  the  new  master,  had  become 
his  eager  ally.  Smyrk  employed  a  negro  preacher  to  second 
his  efforts.  At  first,  they  found  it  uphill  work.  The  Manor 
slaves  were  thoroughly  contented.  "  Ole  Marse "  had 
always  been  kind  and  indulgent,  their  work  was  light,  and 
they  were  sure  of  good  clothes  and  a  profuse  abundance  of 
victuals  at  the  Quarter.  Besides,  they  derived  a  certain 
pride  from  the  fact  that  they  were  "  Manor  niggers."  The 
slaves  had  their  own  social  lines,  determined  by  the  position 
of  their  owners.  The  Cheston  slaves  held  first  rank  among 
the  "  quality  "  negroes  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  were  loath 
to  relinquish  this  distinction.  Attachment  to  their  old  home 
and  to  the  family  also  acted  as  a  strong  deterrent. 

The  preacher  returned  to  Smyrk,  discouraged. 

"  I  kaint  budge  'em,"  he  said.  "  Dey  'pears  ter  make  no 
'count  o'  de  Guvment.  '  Ole  Marse  en'  Ole  Miss  is  good 
enough  guvment  fur  us,'  dey  sez.  '  We  ain't  so  sho'  uv  dat 
udder  guvment  you  talks  erbout.  Hit  mought  be  better,  en' 
hit  mought  be  wuss.'  " 

"You'll  ha'  ter  skeer  'em,"  said  the  cunning  overseer  with 
a  wink.  "  Tell  'em  the  Colonel's  deep  in  debt,  en'  they'll  ha' 
ter  be  sold.  That'll  fetch  'em." 

The  preacher  returned  to  the  Quarter  with  this  tale.  It 
worked  like  magic.  The  negroes  knew  "  Ole  Marse  "  was 
in  debt.  What  more  probable  than  that  he  would  be  com 
pelled  to  sell  them — perhaps  "  to  Georgia,"  as  selling  them 
for  transfer  to  the  far  Southern  States  was  called  among  the 
s\aves.  They  did  not  know  that  the  war  rendered  this  im 
practicable.  It  was  a  peril,  immediate  and  real  for  them,  at 
20 


306  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

which  the  boldest  shuddered.  The  Maryland  negro  had  in  fact, 
a  peculiar  horror  of  being  "  sold  to  Georgia."  It  was  seldom 
done  by  the  more  humane  planters,  and  then,  only  as  a  pun 
ishment  for  serious  offences.  It  meant  to  be  torn  from 
family  and  friends  and  dragged  away  to  what  was  believed 
to  be  a  much  harder  form  of  servitude,  to  conditions  all  the 
more  dreaded  because  unknown. 

A  panic  took  possession  of  the  Manor  negroes  at  the  mere 
suggestion.  Only  old  Caesar,  Dinah,  Phyllis  and  the  Colonel's 
"  body  servant,"  Pompey,  held  out  against  the  general  scare. 
They  did  not  believe  in  the  danger,  they  said,  and  even  if  it 
existed,  they  wouldn't  leave  "  Marster "  until  compelled. 
All  the  others  hurried  off  as  soon  as  darkness  came  to  shroud 
their  movements.  Even  Chloe's  love  for  Young  Miss  was 
not  proof  against  a  temptation  appealing  equally  to  her  fears 
and  her  passion  for  running  away. 

The  blow  was  a  heavy  one  for  the  Colonel.  His  pecuni 
ary  loss  scarcely  affected  him  at  all,  but  the  absence  of  the 
familiar  figures  about  him  caused  him  cruel  pain.  He  had 
looked  upon  his  slaves  as  being,  in  a  certain  sense,  his  chil 
dren — even  the  oldest  among  them,whom  he  always  addressed 
as  "  Uncle  "  and  "  Aunty."  Like  children,  they  were  help 
less  creatures  whom  he  must  provide  for,  instruct,  rebuke 
or  indulge.  Many  of  them  had  been  companions  of  his  boy 
hood  with  whom  he  had  played  and  hunted.  Others  had 
been  the  nurses  or  out-of-door  preceptors  of  his  early  child 
hood  to  whose  quaint  stories  he  had  often  listened  with 
rapt  attention.  The  great  majority  had  grown  up  under  his 
eye.  A  thousand  homely  impressions  endeared  them  to 
him.  Their  apparently  voluntary  desertion  wounded  him  all 
the  more  keenly  because  he  had  no  suspicion  of  any  inciting 
cause.  Old  Caesar,  who  informed  him  of  their  flight,  con 
siderately  withheld  from  him  the  fact  that  his  apprehended  ruin 
was  the  animating  motive.  An  instinctive  sense  of  delicacy 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

restrained  the  old  negro.  It  was  not  for  him  to  tell  "  Mars- 
ter  "  that  the  real  state  of  his  affairs  was  better  known  to  his 
slaves  than  to  himself.  He  wished  to  spare  both  his  feeling 
of  security  and  his  pride.  It  might  be  that  the  disaster 
would  be  averted,  though  Caesar  had  begun  to  suspect 
"  Marse  Edgar."  If  it  was  not  averted,  it  would  make  itself 
known  soon  enough.  At  any  rate,  it  should  not  be  his  hand 
that  struck  down  the  one  being  he  loved  above  all  others, 
whom  he  had  dandled  on  his  knee  as  a  child. 

The  Colonel  had  no  thought  of  attempting  to  induce  the 
negroes  to  return.  If,  after  all  his  care  and  kindness,  they 
could  desert  him  of  their  own  choice  as  he  imagined  they 
had  done,  it  would  be  an  idle  task.  If  they  came  home  dis 
appointed,  he  would  receive  them  kindly,  and  care  for  them 
as  before,  but  he  had  no  hope  of  that.  A  few  stragglers 
might  appear  some  day,  but  never  again  would  he  see  them 
all  in  their  accustomed  places.  The  mere  novelty  of  freedom 
would  tempt  them  far,  and  they  would  soon  be  scattered, 
wandering  hither  and  thither  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and 
weather.  The  utmost  he  could  do  was  to  send  word  by 
Csesar  that  the  Quarter  stood  open  for  them  whenever  they 
chose  to  come  back. 

Sad  at  heart,  he  walked  down  to  the  Quarter  at  nightfall, 
hoping  against  hope  that  some  had  returned.  The  building 
was  empty.  Tears  glistened  in  his  eyes  at  the  sight  of  it,  a 
shadowy  mass  in  the  darkness  from  which  came  no  sound. 
Usually,  at  this  hour,  it  was  gay  with  lights  and  laughter,  but 
now,  for  the  first  time  in  its  history,  it  was  silent  and  de 
serted.  It  was  as  though  Death  had  entered,  to  abide  there. 
And  death,  indeed,  was  there — death  to  the  Old  Order  which 
the  Colonel  so  passionately  loved. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

REEVE  was  disagreeably  surprised  by  Edgar's  pretended 
devotion  to  the  family  interests.  It  had  been  his  firm  con 
viction  that  he  would  promptly  exact  the  payment  of  the 
money  due  him  from  the  Colonel.  Apparently,  he  was 
neither  grasping  nor  revengeful,  but  inclined  to  help  his 
brother.  Reeve  concluded  that  age  had  tempered  him  and 
he  had  settled  down  at  last  into  a  quiet  respectability  at  the 
Manor,  relieved  by  occasional  visits  to  Baltimore  where, 
the  lawyer  suspected,  he  indemnified  himself  by  going  on  a 
spree.  He  knew  the  black  sheep  among  the  "  Quality  " 
so  well !  There  was  a  latent  pride  even  in  the  most  depraved 
of  them  that  sometimes  converted  men  who  had  been  prod 
igal  in  their  youth  into  steady  home  lovers  in  their  old  age. 
At  first,  Edgar's  activity  in  the  management  of  affairs  at  the 
Manor  caused  Reeve  no  little  apprehension.  If  he  took  it 
into  his  head  to  pry  into  the  accounts,  he  might  discover 
facts  which  would  enable  him  to  bring  ugly  charges  against 
him.  Edgar  was  much  too  shrewd  not  to  draw  conclusions 
that  might  be  very  damaging.  Reeve  regretted,  now,  that 
the  Colonel's  obtuseness  had  tempted  him  to  indulge  his 
greed  rather  recklessly.  Then,  too,  Edgar  might  advise 
retrenchment,  and  if  he  managed  economically,  he  might 
baffle  him  in  his  designs  upon  the  property. 

But  Edgar  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  On  the  contrary,  he 
led  his  brother  on  to  greater  expenditure.  Reeve  chuckled 
at  each  new  extravagance  ;  it  was  another  step  towards  the 
Colonel's  downfall.  Unconsciously,  he  fancied,  Edgar  was 
playing  into  his  hands.  In  course  of  time,  he  was  completely 
reassured,  as  Edgar  gave  no  sign  of  suspecting  him.  Evi- 

308 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  309 

dently,  he  had  not  thought  of  sifting  the  accounts.  It  would 
soon  be  possible,  now,  to  foreclose.  He  had  no  fear  of 
Edgar's  bidding  against  him  at  the  sale,  for  he  had  satisfied 
himself  he  could  not  command  any  large  amount  of  money. 
The  Magruder  inheritance  had  been  left  in  trust,  and  Edgar's 
daughter  could  not  touch  the  principal.  At  most,  she  could 
control  only  the  income,  some  ten  or  twelve  thousand  dollars 
a  year — a  trifle  compared  with  the  sum  that  would  be  re 
quired  to  outbid  him  for  the  purchase  of  the  Manor.  He 
was  quite  serene  on  this  point,  for  he,  himself,  had  drawn 
the  will. 

One  afternoon,  late  in  the  autumn,  Reeve  was  seated  in 
his  office  looking  over  the  papers  which  contained  the  history 
of  his  dealings  with  the  Colonel  in  order  to  refresh  his 
memory  before  deciding  finally  upon  his  course  of  proce 
dure.  He  still  wished  to  avoid  an  open  break  with  the 
Colonel.  If  only  Oswald  were  at  hand  1  It  was  possible, 
when  disaster  overtook  her  father,  that  that  haughty  little 
piece  would  be  more  willing  to  listen  to  him.  But  Oswald 
was  far  away  in  the  South — he  knew  not  where.  He  might 
be  wounded  or  even  dead — no,  he  would  not  admit  to  him 
self  that  this  was  possible.  It  would  be  too  cruel.  What 
folly  in  the  boy  to  rush  into  danger  merely  because  of  a  girl's 
caprice !  He  had  begged  him  to  go  abroad  again,  but  he 
had  refused  on  the  plea  that  she  would  think  him  a  coward. 
Ah,  well,  he  would  have  all  straight  for  him  when  he  came 
home;  he  would  fix  things  so  that  Oswald  would  be 
able  to  present  himself  to  her  as  the  future  master  of  the 
Manor — a  very  different  individual  in  her  eyes  from  the 
young  fellow  she  had  treated  so  shabbily.  His  dream,  he 
tried  to  persuade  himself,  might  be  realised  after  all.  At 
any  rate,  once  in  possession  of  the  Manor,  he  would  hold  it, 
not  as  his  own,  but  in  trust  for  Oswald,  so  that  he  might 
have  another  chance  with  the  girl.  Of  course,  he  would  not 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

disturb  the  family ;  they  should  continue  to  live  there 
at  a  nominal  rent,  and  they  would  be  forced  to  admit  that 
he  knew  how  to  behave  with  some  delicacy  1 

Reeve's  office  was  illustrative  of  the  man's  curious  pride. 
It  was  a  mere  wooden  shanty,  so  old  and  crazy  that  it  seemed 
on  the  point  of  tumbling  down.  People  thought  it  odd  he 
should  have  built  so  grand  a  residence  and  yet  continued  to 
transact  business  in  this  hovel.  He  clung  to  it  because  its 
very  meanness  tickled  his  vanity.  It  was  eloquent,  to  his 
mind,  of  all  he  had  accomplished.  If  his  "  mansion"  showed 
the  height  to  which  he  had  risen,  his  office  revealed  the 
depths  from  which  he  had  lifted  himself  by  his  own  efforts. 
He  would  not  even  permit  the  furniture  to  be  changed.  It 
was  old  and  ricketty — a  few  oak  chairs ;  a  tall  desk,  covered 
with  green  baize,  splashed  with  ink,  and  a  large  table,  all 
whittled  and  carved  by  waiting  clients  who  had  sought  to 
relieve  their  tedium  with  jackknife  exercise.  Rough  pine 
shelves  held  a  somewhat  meagre  collection  of  law  books.  It 
was  one  of  Reeve's  boasts  that  he  carried  his  law  in  his 
head.  He  felt  more  at  ease  here  than  in  his  luxurious  home. 
The  atmosphere  was  better  suited  to  his  tastes.  Here,  he 
could  be  his  real  self — the  rough  and  ready  man  of  affairs, 
respectful  to  some  clients,  familiar  with  others,  with  no  fear 
of  violating  social  proprieties. 

Reeve  was  interrupted  in  his  examination  of  the  Manor 
papers  by  a  tap  on  the  door,  and  a  moment  later,  Edgar 
Cheston  entered, 

"  How  are  you,  Reeve  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  careless  nod. 

The  lawyer  rose  quickly,  and  greeted  him  with  his  usual 
air  of  obsequiousness.  He  imagined  Edgar  had  got  into 
deep  water  in  his  efforts  to  manage  his  brother's  affairs  and 
had  come  to  ask  him  to  help  him  out.  He  was  not  unwil 
ling,  if  there  was  profit  in  it.  Cupidity  was  still  strong  in 
him.  He  was  one  of  those  rich  men  who  are  never  quite 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  311 

rich  enough;  besides,  he  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  sense  of 
having  got  the  better  of  a  clever  opponent  in  a  bargain. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  he  asked  solicitously,  when 
Edgar  was  seated. 

"  I  came  about  those  mortgages  on  the  Manor,"  said 
Edgar. 

"  Yes  ? "  said  Reeve,  inquiringly.  He  assumed  that 
Edgar  was  about  to  ask  whether  more  money  could  be  bor 
rowed. 

"  I've  decided  to  take  them  off  your  hands." 

Edgar  had  arranged  the  matter  without  trouble  with  the 
Colonel,  who  was,  in  fact,  delighted  when  he  proposed  to 
take  the  mortgages  himself  instead  of  having  them  trans 
ferred  to  Judith,  telling  him  he  meant  to  make  Turlo  his 
heir.  Edgar  had  not  yet  made  up  his  mind  whether  to  con 
tent  himself  with  the  virtual  possession  of  the  Manor  which 
the  ownership  of  the  mortgages  would  give  him,  or  to  become 
the  actual  purchaser  at  public  sale.  The  former  course 
would  be  easier  and  create  less  stir.  If  his  brother  "  turned 
rusty,"  he  could  have  recourse  to  the  more  drastic  measure 
of  foreclosure  and  ejection. 

Reeve  glanced  at  him  incredulously.  What  could  he 
mean  ?  Was  he  trying  a  poor  joke  with  him  ? 

"  I  suppose  you  know  they  amount  to  a  considerable 
sum,"  he  remarked. 

"Oh,  yes."  Edgar  smiled  pleasantly.  "But  that's  all 
right ;  I  have  the  money." 

Reeve  drew  back,  staggered.  Of  course,  it  was  merely  a 
"  bluff."  He  fancied  he  knew  the  extent  of  Edgar's  re 
sources  quite  as  well  as  he  did. 

"  You  thought  you'd  tied  up  the  Magruder  bequest,"  con 
tinued  Edgar,  with  a  lazy  air  of  amusement.  "  Well,  the  best 
lawyers  sometimes  make  mistakes.  There  was  a  flaw  in  the 
will.  The  trustees  have  decided  that  my  daughter  is  en- 


312  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

titled  to  the  principal.  In  fact,  they  have  conveyed  it  to 
her.  She  has  divided  with  me.  I  can  command  something 
over  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  when  I  need  it.  My 
brother  consents  to  the  transfer.  You  only  want  your 
money.  I  am  ready  to  pay  it." 

Reeve  turned  livid.  Was  the  prize  for  which  he  had 
struggled  and  schemed  and  waited  so  patiently  to  be  wrested 
from  him  just  at  the  moment  it  seemed  about  to  fall  into  his 
hands  ?  Had  Edgar  told  the  truth  ?  Was  it  possible  he  had 
committed  so  fatal  a  blunder  in  preparing  the  Magruder 
will  ?  It  seemed  incredible.  Never  before  had  the  validity 
of  a  document  drawn  by  him  been  disputed.  His  accuracy 
in  such  matters  was  proverbial  in  half  a  dozen  counties. 
Had  he,  so  skilful  in  digging  pitfalls  for  other  people,  un 
consciously  dug  one  for  himself  ?  The  idea  was  maddening. 
But  even  if  Edgar  had  the  money,  he  might  not  be  able  to 
outbid  him.  He  could  not  compel  him  to  give  up  the  mort 
gages.  He  would  not  give  them  up  !  If  he  could  do  noth 
ing  else,  he  could  at  least  humiliate  the  Chestons  by  com 
pelling  a  public  auction  of  the  Manor.  His  square,  power 
ful  jaws  hardened  suddenly,  and  his  lips  closed  tight  with 
obstinate  resolve. 

"  The  mortgages  are  not  for  sale,"  he  snapped  out. 

"Perhaps  not — to  any  one  but  me,"  assented  Edgar, 
easily.  "  You  don't  think  I  shall  allow  you  to  proceed  to  a 
foreclosure,  do  you?  And  why  should  you?  Of  course, 
you  have  no  idea  of  buying  the  Manor." 

The  sneer  exasperated  Reeve.  It  meant,  to  his  mind,  that 
he  was  supposed  to  be  incapable  of  harbouring  so  presump 
tuous  a  notion. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Suppose  I  wanted  it 
for  my  son  ?  " 

"  Absurd  1  "  said  Edgar,  with  a  careless  wave  of  the  hand, 
"  you  must  be  out  of  your  wits  to  think  of  such  a  thing. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  313 

Your  son  master  of  the  Manor  ?  You  are  a  clear-headed, 
clever  fellow,  Reeve.  Now,  put  it  to  yourself.  Would  it  not 
be  ridiculous  for  you  or  your  son  to  attempt  to  play  the  part 
of  a  big  landed  proprietor  ?  To  step  into  the  shoes  of  my 
family,  who  have  been  rooted  at  the  Manor  for  two  hundred 
years?  You  know  this  community  and  its  prejudices. 
Everybody  would  be  shocked  at  your  audacity.  As  to  your 
son,  you  would  simply  blast  his  career.  People,  I  am  told, 
have  been  kind  to  him,  owing  to  my  brother's  endorsement ; 
the  most  exclusive  have  taken  him  up.  Of  course,  they 
would  drop  him  like  a  hot  potato." 

Edgar's  words  were  so  many  drops  of  caustic  to  Reeve. 
They  ate  into  his  old  wounds  and  caused  them  to  smart 
afresh.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  been  branded  over  again  with 
the  stigma  of  social  inferiority,  and  that  the  same  detestable 
mark  had  been  placed  upon  his  son  to  whom  he  had  looked 
so  confidently  for  redemption.  He  was  conscious  again,  and 
more  acutely  than  ever,  of  the  hopelessness  of  combating 
the  hateful  class  domination  which  Edgar's  easy  insolence 
so  coolly  asserted.  These  Chestons,  somehow,  had  a  way 
of  making  him  feel  that  nothing  he  could  do  would  ever 
change  their  attitude  of  careless  condescension.  If  he  could 
but  crush  them !  Well,  they  would  be  humbled  a  bit  by 
having  the  Manor  put  up  to  the  highest  bidder.  If  he  had 
had  any  doubts  or  scruples,  Edgar's  cutting  speech  would 
have  effectually  dissipated  them.  It  was  now  open  war  be 
tween  them.  Rather  than  be  beaten,  he  would  spend  every 
dollar  he  had. 

"  I'll  take  the  chances !  "  he  cried,  hoarse  with  passion. 
"  If  I  win,  I'll  show  the  world  I  am  too  strong  for  you.  The 
plain  people  will  be  on  my  side.  Your  kind  will  jeer  at  me, 
of  course ;  they've  always  done  it.  I  was  a  fool  ever  to 
think  of  earning  their  approval.  I  meant  to  let  your  brother 
down  easy ;  now,  I'll  smash  him.  He'll  have  you  to  thank 


3H  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

for  that.  You  might  have  had  a  friend  in  me ;  you  pre 
ferred  to  drive  me  into  the  other  camp.  There  are  plenty  of 
people  only  waiting  for  a  leader  to  rebel.  They've  been 
kept  down  for  generations,  but  they've  never  relished  it,  and 
I  know  how  to  stir  'em  up.  How  do  you  like  my  motto — 
'  new  blood  against  the  old  '  ?  Oh,  it'll  take  I  " 

"  So  that's  your  game  now  ? "  said  Edgar  imperturbably, 
"  my  dear  fellow,  the  time  isn't  ripe.  It  might  work  a  few 
years  from  now ;  at  present,  you  couldn't  rally  more  than  a  few 
hungry  paupers  to  your  side.  Chaos  is  coming,  but  it  hasn't 
come.  Of  course,  the  North  will  win  ;  it  has  the  weight 
of  numbers,  of  money,  of  great  industrial  forces.  When  its 
victory  is  assured,  our  order  will  crumble  to  pieces  and  your 
crowd  will  come  to  the  front,  but  for  the  moment,  we  are  in 
tact.  You  would  merely  beat  your  head  against  a  wall. 
Come — be  reasonable.  I'm  not  spoiling  for  a  fight ;  how 
ever,  I  warn  you,  if  we  come  to  blows,  you  may  be  sorry. 
I've  had  a  good  many  tussles  in  my  time,  but  I  always  took 
care  to  be  well  armed,  and  you  see  I  am  still  alive." 

"  I'm  riot  without  a  weapon  or  two,  myself,"  growled  Reeve, 
uneasy  but  dogged.  Edgar's  unruffled  confidence  was  be 
ginning  to  tell  on  him. 

"  Enough  of  this  !  "  said  Edgar,  wheeling  round  in  his 
chair,  and  speaking,  for  the  first  time,  in  sharp,  curt  tones. 
"  I  offer  you  the  full  value  of  the  mortgages  ;  you  refuse. 
Very  good.  Now,  listen  to  me.  I  prefer  to  settle  this  matter 
amicably  because  I  hate  bother.  You  choose  to  fight.  You 
think  you  might  baffle  me  by  forcing  the  sale  of  the  Manor  and 
bidding  against  me.  That  wouldn't  suit  me  at  all ;  I'm  not 
inclined  to  waste  my  money.  You  won't  listen  to  reason  ;  I 
must  use  other  means.  Well,  you  are  a  Secessionist,  a 
leading  Secessionist,  a  marked  man.  Of  course,  I  know 
you've  been  active  only  because  you  wish  to  court  pop 
ularity  ;  in  reality,  you  don't  care  a  button  which  side 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  315 

wins.  But  the  federal  authorities  think  otherwise :  they  re 
gard  you  as  likely  to  be  troublesome.  At  any  rate,  I  am 
so  informed.  They've  begun  to  make  arrests  about  here. 
You've  been  spared,  so  far,  because  of  the  influence  you  are 
able  to  exert — you  best  know  how.  No  doubt,  you  think 
yourself  safe.  So  you  are,  as  long  as  I  keep  silent.  I  have 
but  to  say  the  word,  and  you'll  be  landed  in  Fort  McHenry 
to-morrow.  Have  you  any  fancy  for  that  ?  " 

"  You!  "  cried  Reeve,  with  a  taunting  laugh.  "  Why  you 
are  the  Colonel's  brother  I  If  I'm  a  marked  man,  what  is 
he  ?  Didn't  he  send  a  whole  battalion  South." 

"  He  answers  for  himself,"  said  Edgar,  coolly.  "  As  for  me, 
I  happen  to  be  the  secret  agent  of  the  War  Department  here. 
The  provost  marshal  gets  his  instructions  from  me." 

So  that  was  what  Edgar  had  been  doing  in  Washington  ! 
Reeve  bounded  from  his  seat,  aghast.  He  saw  that  he  was 
in  a  trap.  He  had  met  his  match.  If  Edgar  hadn't  lied, 
and  the  game  had  become  too  desperate  for  that,  he  had 
him  cornered.  If  he  threw  him  into  prison,  he  might  be 
ruined.  Who  could  tell  what  would  happen  if  he  were  not 
at  hand  to  defend  his  interests  ?  The  investigation  of  his  af 
fairs  he  had  such  good  reason  to  dread  might  be  set  on  foot, 
and  disgrace  would  follow.  He  must  preserve  his  liberty  at 
any  cost.  If  he  could  only  remain  free,  he  might  find  some 
opportunity  of  delivering  a  counter  stroke.  •  He  panted  at 
the  thought  of  possibly  hurting  Edgar.  Even  now,  he  could 
not  restrain  himself. 

"  Your  brother  knows  you  are  a  paid  informer  ? "  he  de 
manded,  with  a  malicious  glance. 

Edgar  paled  slightly.     The  blow  had  struck  home. 

"  I'm  not  paid,"  he  said,  recovering  himself  quickly,  and 
with  almost  the  same  sneering  negligence  as  before,  "  at  least, 
in  money.  Power  is  all  I  ask.  It  is  such  a  convenient  thing 
to  have  in  times  like  these,  especially  when  one  has  to  deal 


316  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

with  an  obstinate  fellow  like  you.  No  ;  my  brother  doesn't 
know,  and  I  don't  intend  he  shall,  for  the  present.  Silence 
for  silence,  Reeve  ;  I  think  we  understand  each  other.  How 
about  the  mortgages,  now  ?  " 

"  We'll  talk  about  them  when  I'm  sure  you  have  the  pow 
ers  you  claim." 

"  And  run  the  risk  of  being  jailed  in  the  meantime  ?  Our 
methods  are  rather  summary,  you  know.  However,  write  to 
Washington,  if  you  like  :  I'll  wait  a  few  days  ;  it  is  really 
immaterial  to  me.  You'll  find  I'm  pretty  well  known  at  the 
Departments.  They  think  a  great  deal  of  me,  I  assure  you. 
You  see,  they  need  men  of  my  stamp  in  the  border  States, 
where  the  issue  is  doubtful.  They  put  a  high  value  on  an 
agent  of  some  nerve  who  knows  the  people  and  their  prej 
udices.  Practically,  they've  given  me  carte  blanche." 

"  Take  the  mortgages  !  "  gasped  Reeve,  choking  with 
fury.  It  was  like  giving  up  his  heart's  blood,  but  he  knew 
Edgar  had  the  whip-hand  of  him.  It  was  of  no  use — it 
might  be  ruinous — to  persist.  He  longed  to  strangle  Edgar. 
He  was  the  only  man  who  had  ever  got  the  better  of  him. 
After  all,  these  aristocrats  were  really  the  stronger.  They 
ruled  of  right ;  that  is  to  say,  the  only  right  he  recognised — 
superior  force.  Even  in  cunning,  they  could  beat  him  when 
they  set  their  minds  to  it.  Damn  them,  one  and  all  1 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE  Colonel  was  at  Edgar's  mercy.  The  sale  of  every 
acre  of  his  land,  of  every  article  of  personal  property  would 
barely  suffice  to  pay  his  debts.  Every  claim  against  him  was 
in  Edgar's  hands.  This  fact,  however,  so  far  from  causing 
him  uneasiness,  was  most  reassuring.  His  confidence  in  his 
brother  was  unbounded,  not  only  because  he  was  his  brother, 
but  also  because  Edgar  still  pretended  to  treat  their  interests 
as  identical.  The  Colonel  rested,  secure  and  contented,  in 
the  idea  that  they  were  partners  in  a  kind  of  joint  ownership 
of  the  property,  with  reversion  to  his  son. 

Edgar  permitted  him  this  pleasant  illusion  a  little  longer. 
There  were  certain  details  he  had  yet  to  arrange.  On  the  plea 
of  business  necessity,  he  left  the  Manor  and  took  up  his  resi 
dence  in  the  county  town  in  order  that  he  might  be  able 
to  act  more  freely.  Hardened  though  he  was,  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  give  the  final  blow  in  his  mother's  presence. 
All  the  old  affection  she  had  lavished  on  him  as  a  boy  seemed, 
recently,  to  have  revived.  She  looked  to  him,  with  perfect 
confidence,  to  do  the  right  thing.  In  her  opinion,  he  had 
fully  redeemed  himself  ;  she  leaned  on  him  proudly,  as  the 
mainstay  of  the  family.  She  had  not  been  wrong  in  preferring 
him  as  the  brightest  and  strongest  of  her  children — the  one 
most  nearly  akin  to  herself.  The  true  metal  in  him  was  com 
ing  out  1  Her  attitude  towards  him  affected  Edgar,  in  spite  of 
himself.  He  was  surprised,  and  actually  somewhat  pleased 
to  find  himself  capable  of  the  weakness  of  hesitating  to  de 
stroy  the  fiction  which  made  her  so  happy.  He  relished  the 
flattery  of  it.  It  was  too  bad  he  had  to  open  the  old  lady's 


3i8  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

eyes.  He  shrank  from  the  thought  of  meeting  their  in 
dignant  sorrow  and  scorn.  Well,  he  would  avoid  her,  if  he 
could. 

The  flight  of  the  slaves  had  brought  about  important 
changes  at  the  Manor.  In  so  large  an  establishment,  con 
ducted  without  regard  to  economy,  a  staff  of  trained  servants 
was  indispensable  to  the  maintenance  of  the  usual  comfort. 
The  house  itself  had  been  designed  with  unconscious  reli 
ance  upon  the  permanence  of  slavery.  Its  straggling  ground- 
plan,  with  the  principal  living  and  sleeping  rooms  separated 
from  the  kitchen  and  the  servants'  rooms  by  a  long  series  of 
halls  and  passages  and  stairways,  obviously  pre-supposed  the 
continued  command  of  a  corps  of  slaves,  big  and  little,  to 
provide  quick  and  easy  communication  from  one  end  of  the 
building  to  the  other.  Even  the  more  modest  of  these  old 
plantation  houses  would  strike  despair  into  the  soul  of  the 
modern  house-wife,  accustomed  to  the  utmost  concentration 
of  arrangement  and  to  labour-saving  devices  of  every  kind. 

The  working  force  of  the  plantation  was  now  reduced  to 
four  negroes.  The  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Cleaves,  had  been 
seized  with  a  severe  attack  of  rheumatism  which  kept  her 
in  bed,  and  Ole  Miss  took  her  place.  The  old  lady  would 
permit  no  one  to  help  her.  Her  spirit  rose  to  the  occa 
sion.  She  was  deeply  incensed  against  the  slaves  who  had 
absconded.  For  half  a  century,  she  had  toiled  to  make  them 
happy,  and  this  was  how  they  repaid  her.  "  I  will  show 
the  ungrateful  creatures,"  she  exclaimed  with  flashing  eyes, 
"  that  I  can  do  without  them  much  better  than  they  can 
do  without  me"  Caesar  was  engrossed  with  outdoor  work. 
The  whole  burden  of  responsibility  fell  upon  him.  Smyrk, 
the  overseer,  feeling  himself  to  be  a  privileged  person  owing 
to  his  confidential  relation  to  Edgar,  made  the  merest  pretence 
of  working,  and  dawdled  about,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
sneering  at  Caesar's  efforts,  with  the  aid  of  Pompey,  to  keep 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  319 

the  farm  affairs  going.  Dinah,  who  was  very  skilful  with 
the  hoe,  relieved  Caesar,  to  some  extent,  of  the  care  of  the 
vegetable  garden,  and  the  old  man  made  shift  to  attend  to 
the  horses  and  cattle,  besides  performing  a  prodigious  amount 
of  labour  in  the  fields.  Some  of  his  negro  acquaintances 
ridiculed  him  for  toiling  so  hard  for  "  white  people  "  when 
he  might,  if  he  chose,  enjoy  the  luxury  of  being  as  idle  as 
themselves.  At  all  such  remarks,  Caesar  would  draw  him 
self  up  and  retort  with  an  air  of  great  dignity,  "  What  you 
take  me  fur,  ennyhow  ?  Ole  Marster  (the  Colonel's  father) 
en'  Marse  Robert's  allers  tuk  de  bes'  keer  uv  me,  en'  now 
de  fam'ly  needs  me  mos',  you  think  I'se  gwine  ter  set  down 
en'  see  'em  suffer?  I  ain't  dat  kind  !  Please  God,  I'll  do 
my  level  bes'  ter  keep  things  movin'." 

Faithful  old  Caesar  !  But  for  him,  matters  must  have  gone 
ill,  indeed,  at  the  Manor.  Oddly  enough,  the  mainstays  of 
the  establishment,  but  recently  the  scene  of  busy  activity 
and  animation,  were  now  an  aged  negro,  who  had  been 
regarded  as  incapacitated  for  heavy  work,  and  an  inex 
perienced  young  girl.  For  Lydia,  heretofore  so  careless, 
had  taken  upon  herself  the  chief  burden  of  the  domestic 
duties.  It  had  been  found  impossible  to  replace  the  run 
aways  with  hired  labour.  The  whole  negro  population  was 
demoralised  by  its  sudden  emancipation.  All  were  eager  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  novel,  inestimable  privilege  of  do 
ing  nothing.  The  one  idea  among  them  was  that  they  were 
henceforth  to  live  without  work,  their  simplest  wants  supplied 
by  the  Government.  Few  of  them  could  be  induced  to 
labour,  even  for  money  ;  "  taking  service  "  seemed  to  them 
like  going  back  into  slavery.  Pompey  and  Phyllis  were  the 
only  house-servants,  and  the  greater  part  of  Phyllis's  time  was 
spent  in  ministering  to  the  comfort  of  the  Colonel's  invalid 
wife.  Lydia  assumed  the  duties  of  a  maid  of  all  work.  Miss 
Twiggs  assisted  her  as  well  as  she  could,  but  she  was  weak 


320  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

and  awkward,  and  accomplished  but  little.  Lydia  had  caused 
her  grandmother  some  concern,  of  late,  by  her  impatience 
of  occupations  that  kept  her  indoors — occupations  which,  in 
Ole  Miss's  opinion,  now  that  she  was  a  young  lady,  were 
essential  to  her  proper  equipment  as  a  plantation  mis 
tress.  Naturally,  Ole  Miss  was  greatly  pleased  when  she 
began  to  exhibit  an  interest  in  household  affairs,  and  re 
sponded  most  affably  to  her  appeals  for  instruction  on  this  or 
that  point.  With  a  good  deal  of  self-complacence,  she  attrib 
uted  the  sudden  change  to  the  fact  that  Lydia  had  some  of 
her  blood  in  her  veins.  It  is  more  likely  that  the  pres 
sure  of  circumstances  brought  out  the  practical  side  of 
Lydia's  character.  She  knew  that  she  was  young  and 
strong,  and  it  seemed  to  her  only  fair  that  she  should  exert 
herself  to  the  utmost  to  save  the  older  members  of  the  family 
inconvenience  and  trouble.  It  was  surprising  how  much  she 
managed  to  accomplish  in  the  course  of  a  day.  Every 
morning,  she  swept  and  dusted  the  principal  living  rooms  and 
the  hall,  fed  the  poultry,  assisted  Phyllis  with  the  work  in 
the  dairy,  and  if  Dinah  had  permitted,  would  have  had  a 
hand  in  the  cooking. 

At  times,  she  succeeded  in  giving  Dinah  a  little  help,  on 
the  pretext  of  "  learning  how,"  but  it  was  not  often  that  she 
was  enabled  to  hoodwink  the  old  negress  who  was  greatly 
scandalised  at  seeing  Young  Miss  "  a  wuckin'  like  enny  po' 
trash."  Frequently,  when  Lydia  presented  herself  in  the 
kitchen,  clothed  in  her  working  garb — an  old  woollen  gown  ; 
a  stiffly  starched  white  apron,  and  a  jaunty  cap  of  snowy 
muslin  to  protect  her  curly  masses  of  hair  from  dust,  the 
whole  imparting  a  piquant  trimness  and  daintiness  to  her 
beauty — old  Dinah  would  sail  towards  her,  with  skirts  out 
spread,  crying,  "  Shoo,  honey,  shoo !  "  as  though  she  were 
driving  away  an  intrusive  chicken.  "  I  ain't  gwine  ter  have 
yer  pickin'  roun'  in  hyar,  a  spilin'  yer  pritty  han's  en'  com- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  321 

plexshun.  How  off'n  hez  I  got  ter  tell  yer  dat  ?  "  Never 
theless,  Dinah  was  very  proud  of  Young  Miss's  activity  and 
almost  as  much  gratified  as  was  Ole  Miss  herself.  "  She 
kin  turn  her  han'  to  ennything,"  she  asserted  one  day, 
with  a  grin  of  delight,  to  Ole  Miss,  "  I  b'lieve  in  my  soul 
she'll  soon  be  ez  peart  er  ebber  you  wuz,  Mistus." 

Lydia's  conduct  was  by  no  means  exceptional.  It  found 
a  parallel  in  many  a  Southern  home.  Thousands  of  daintily 
nurtured  girls  and  women,  who  had  been  reared  in  luxury, 
with  scarcely  a  want  unsatisfied  and  with  troops  of  slaves  to  do 
their  bidding,  were  suddenly  called  upon  to  undergo  priva 
tions  and  drudgery  of  the  most  menial  kind.  Most  of  them 
applied  themselves  bravely  to  their  unwelcome  tasks,  and 
the  courage,  the  devotion,  the  patient  endurance  of  the 
women  of  the  South  should  occupy  a  prominent  place  in  the 
story  of  the  great  social  catastrophe  which  followed  the 
downfall  of  slavery. 

Lydia  had,  of  course,  her  moments  of  doubt  and  discour 
agement,  when  the  task  with  which  she  had  charged  herself 
— that  of  keeping  the  ordinary  machinery  of  the  household 
in  motion,  pretending,  all  the  while,  a  cheerfulness  she  could 
not  feel — seemed  almost  impossible  for  her.  She  had  her 
own  secret  grief  to  battle  with,  but  no  one  would  have  sus 
pected,  from  her  ordinary  manner,  the  poignant  suffering 
that  was  lacerating  her  heart.  She  was  always  blithe  and 
bright-eyed,  and  sometimes,  even  gay.  Hers  was  the  pre 
cious  faculty,  peculiar  to  her  sex,  of  masking  her  emotions 
in  loving  deception  of  those  who  were  dependent  on  her  for 
the  stimulus  of  a  brave  and  cheerful  spirit.  It  was  a  disci 
pline  for  her,  hard  but  serviceable — the  ministry  of  suffering 
she  had  needed.  The  true  woman  in  her  was  being  de 
veloped.  The  wayward  child  was  fast  becoming  the  patient, 
loving  devotee  of  duty. 

Old  Caesar  watched  her  with  critical  interest.  He  had 
21 


322  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

always  loved  her,  in  spite  of  himself,  but  of  late,  he  had 
been  inclined  to  carp  at  her  more  than  ever.  It  had  seemed 
to  him  she  was  becoming  more  and  more  careless  and  in 
different.  Knowing,  as  he  did,  that  "  Marster's "  affairs 
were  in  a  bad  way,  he  secretly  resented  her  attitude.  To 
him,  it  seemed  almost  criminal.  "  She  wants  steadying 
Young  Miss  does,"  he  often  said  to  himself,  with  a  solemn 
shake  of  the  head.  Of  course,  she  didn't  know,  but  she  was 
a  young  woman,  now,  and  in  Caesar's  opinion,  it  was  high 
time  for  her  to  take  •  a  hand.  Was  she  going  to  be  like 
her  mother  who  had  never  shown  the  slightest  inclina 
tion  to  assume  any  of  the  duties  of  her  position  ?  That 
would  be  too  bad.  Caesar  was,  above  all,  a  utilitarian  ; 
he  had  but  little  appreciation  of  beauty  or  grace  or  charm 
unless  it  served  some  practical  end.  For  instance,  he  had 
always  cherished  an  open  contempt  for  flowers.  They 
seemed  to  him  to  be  worthless,  and  the  labour  he  ex 
pended  on  them  was,  in  his  opinion,  thrown  away.  If  they 
blossomed  on  vegetables  that  were  good  to  eat,  that  was  an 
other  matter ;  one  might  even  admire  them,  then.  It  was 
always  a  relief  to  him  to  turn  from  pruning  an  evergreen  or 
a  rose-bush,  to  hoeing  in  the  kitchen  garden.  There  was 
some  sense  in  that.  A  wild  flower,  however  beautiful,  was, 
for  him,  but  a  weed.  And  so  with  Young  Miss.  Her 
beauty  pleased  him,  but  it  had  no  real  value — so  he  tried  to 
persuade  himself — except  as  it  might  contribute  to  her  safe 
establishment  in  life.  If  she  failed  to  use  it  to  "  ketch  "  a 
good  husband,  it  would  be  wasted.  He  was  really  anxious 
about  her,  and  he  had  begun  to  think  seriously  of  giving  her 
a  piece  of  his  mind. 

But  now,  all  was  changed.  She  had  waked  up  suddenly. 
He  marked  the  successive  stages  of  her  development  with  a 
satisfaction  which,  at  times,  he  was  even  constrained  to  ex 
press.  He  took  care,  however,  to  be  sparing  of  approval. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  323 

It  was  so  easy  to  spoil  anybody  by  too  much  praise.  Lydia 
listened  to  him  demurely,  but  with  secret  pride.  Even  his 
admonitions  were  gratifying  to  her.  Never  before,  had  he 
seemed  to  think  it  worth  while  to  do  more  than  grumble. 
Now,  he  found  something  in  her  to  help  and  approve.  He 
was  only  an  old  negro,  but  his  sympathy  was  precious.  It 
reassured  her  and  stimulated  her  to  greater  effort.  Blended 
with  her  old  affection,  was  a  deeper  feeling — a  feeling  of 
genuine  admiration  and  respect.  His  rugged  fidelity — un 
assuming  and  wholly  unselfish — touched  her  even  more 
nearly  than  his  increasing  amiability  to  her.  She  was  proud 
and  grateful  at  having  won  his  approval.  It  was  something 
rare  and  sincere.  Dear,  cross-grained,  sulky  Uncle  Caesar ! 
He  should  never  want  for  anything  so  long  as  she  lived. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THERE  was  but  one  thing  lacking  to  complete  Edgar's 
satisfaction  at  the  course  of  affairs,  and  that  seemed,  at  the 
first  glance,  unimportant.  The  greater  part  of  the  Manor 
tract  was  now  within  his  grasp,  but  there  was  a  farm  of  some 
two  hundred  acres  that  might  escape  him.  It  had  not  been 
included  in  the  mortgages,  and  when  Turlo  had  come  of  age, 
his  father  had  conveyed  it  to  him.  It  was  the  only  bit  of 
land  still  unencumbered,  and  the  Colonel,  moved  by  a  chance 
impulse,  had,  one  day,  decided  to  secure  it  to  his  son. 
Perhaps,  for  the  moment,  he  had  a  vague  presentiment  of 
trouble.  Being  Turlo's  property,  it  could  not  be  made 
liable  for  the  Colonel's  debts.  This  worried  Edgar.  He 
coveted  this  piece  of  land.  Without  it,  the  Manor  was  in 
complete.  It  happened,  also,  that  as  a  young  man,  he  had 
been  given  the  farm  to  manage  in  order  that  he  might  prepare 
himself  for  his  future  duties  at  the  Manor.  He  had  lost  it 
with  the  rest  by  the  change  in  his  father's  will,  and  he  could 
not  reconcile  himself  to  the  idea  of  not  getting  it  back  again. 

Besides,  if  Turlo  returned  from  the  South,  and  took  up  his 
residence  there,  he  would  always  be  a  thorn  in  his  side. 
Edgar  had  conceived  the  notion  of  making  his  brother  depend 
ent  upon  him.  That  would  be  even  more  satisfactory  than  to 
turn  him  out  of  doors.  To  hold  him  in  his  power,  to  make 
him  feel  that  he  had  no  other  resource,  to  see  him  cringe  to  him 
— it  was  really  an  enticing  prospect  which  fed  his  vanity,  as 
well  as  his  thirst  for  revenge.  He  might  be  disappointed  if 
Turlo  had  a  home  to  offer  his  father.  It  was  quite  likely 
"  Bob  "  would  balk  at  the  humiliating  terms  he  meant  to  5m- 

324 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  325 

pose ;  if  he  did,  it  would  be  easy  for  him  to  take  refuge  at 
Turlo's  farm.  The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  Edgar 
relished  the  idea  of  cutting  him  off  from  his  only  means  of  es 
cape.  What  punishment  could  be  greater  for  both  "  Bob  "  and 
his  wife  than  to  be  compelled  to  remain  at  the  Manor,  fed  and 
clothed  by  his  bounty  ?  And  it  fitted  in  so  nicely  with  his 
desire  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the  community.  People, 
generally,  would  think  him  kind. 

He  was  not  unwilling  to  buy  the  farm,  and  even  to  pay  a 
fair  price  for  it,  but  it  was  impossible  to  reach  Turlo.  He 
made  repeated  attempts  to  ascertain  his  whereabouts  in  the 
South,  but  could  learn  nothing  of  him.  Perhaps,  he  was 
dead.  At  last,  the  matter  became  urgent.  He  had  now 
perfected  his  plans,  and  it  seemed  to  him  important  that  he 
should  act  without  further  delay.  He  might  not  be  able  to 
hold  Reeve  in  check  indefinitely.  If  his  influence  at  Wash 
ington  should  wane,  and  in  politics,  anything  might  happen, 
Reeve  might  be  able  to  wriggle  out  of  the  net  he  had  woven 
about  him.  There  was  a  way  to  accomplish  his  object,  but  it 
was  not  without  danger.  His  nephew  was  a  "  rebel  in  arms  "  ; 
consequently,  his  property  was  liable  to  confiscation.  He 
could  bring  this  about  without  much  trouble,  but  if  his  agency 
were  ever  discovered,  the  county  would  become  too  hot  to 
hold  him.  He  had  no  desire  to  excite  local  prejudices ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  coveted  influence  and  applause.  It  would  not 
be  so  well  worth  while  to  become  the  master  of  the  Manor 
unless  he  could  enjoy  the  prestige  which  had  always  pertained 
to  that  position.  It  was  partly  for  this  reason,  as  well  as  to 
avoid  discrediting  himself  with  the  Colonel,  that  he  had  so 
carefully  concealed  his  employment  by  the  Government 
which  had  good  reasons  of  its  own  for  helping  him  to  guard 
the  secret.  But  time  was  pressing,  and  he  finally  decided  to 
run  the  risk. 

The  necessary  steps  were  speedily  taken.     Through  the 


326  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

agency  of  his  official  subordinates,  Edgar  brought  a  formal 
complaint  against  his  nephew,  without  appearing  in  the 
affair.  The  facts  were  clear,  and  easily  established.  An 
order  was  promptly  issued  for  the  sale  of  the  farm  by  the 
United  States  marshal.  At  this  sale,  there  were  no  bidders 
except  Edgar.  The  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood  who 
might  have  competed  for  the  generous  satisfaction  of 
"  buying  in  "  the  property  for  Turlo,  abstained  on  seeing 
Edgar.  They  had  no  doubt  he  was  acting  in  the  interest  of 
his  nephew.  The  farm  was  knocked  down  to  him  for  a 
nominal  sum.  The  Colonel,  who  had  taken  it  for  granted 
that  political  malice  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  outrage,  as 
he  regarded  it,  had  begged  Edgar  to  do  him  this  kindness, 
so  that  the  farm  might  be  saved  for  Turlo.  When  he  learned 
from  Caesar,  whom  he  had  despatched  to  the  scene  to  bring 
him  the  earliest  intelligence,  that  "  Marse  Edgar  "  had  suc 
ceeded  in  buying  the  place  for  a  song,  his  heart  swelled 
with  gratitude  to  his  brother.  Mounting  a  horse,  he  rode 
off  in  haste  to  thank  him ;  he  could  not  rest  until  he  had 
done  so. 

Edgar  was  already  on  his  way  to  the  Manor,  rejoicing  at 
the  neatness  with  which  the  thing  had  worked.  All  his 
plans,  in  fact,  had  moved  with  the  smoothness  of  clockwork. 
There  hadn't  been  a  single  hitch.  He  complimented  himself 
on  the  skill  and  finesse  with  which  he  had  carried  out  a 
complicated  and  delicate  scheme.  He  had  deceived  some  of 
the  most  astute  officials  of  the  Government  and  used  them 
to  serve  his  private  ends.  He  had  successfully  skirted  a 
serious  peril  with  Judith.  He  had  vanquished  that  cunning 
rogue,  Reeve,  at  his  own  game.  To  hoodwink  his  brother 
was,  of  course,  a  mere  bagatelle.  And  now,  the  course  was 
clear ;  he  was  about  to  know  the  joy  of  open  mastery  at  last. 
The  thought  intoxicated  him.  He  had  meant  to  enlighten 
his  brother  gradually ;  to  keep  up,  for  a  time,  the  pretence 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  327 

of  friendliness  so  that  there  should  be  no  sudden  explosion 
which  might  damage  him  in  the  public  mind.  But  he  feared 
he  could  not  restrain  himself.  He  felt  a  fierce  desire  to  show 
his  hand  to  his  brother  and  shatter  his  hopes.  He  had 
waited  so  long ! 

At  a  sharp  turn  in  the  road,  he  came  suddenly  face  to  face 
with  the  Colonel,  who  reined  up  at  once. 

"  You  bought  the  farm,"  he  cried,  "  thank  you  so  much, 
Edgar." 

"  You've  nothing  to  thank  me  for,"  said  Edgar,  shortly. 
He  was  irritated  by  "  Bob's  "  effusiveness. 

"  Well,  I  thank  you  for  Turlo,"  said  the  Colonel,  so  pre 
occupied  that  he  did  not  notice  the  change  in  his  manner. 

"  Turlo  has  nothing  to  thank  me  for,  either,"  retorted 
Edgar,  with  a  harsh  laugh.  He  had  decided  to  have  it  out 
with  "  Bob."  He  could  bear  his  nauseous  gratitude  no 
longer. 

The  Colonel  glanced  at  him  in  surprise.  What  was  the 
matter  with  him  ? 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked,  the  joy  dying  sud 
denly  out  of  his  face.  He  was  conscious  of  vague  anxiety. 

"  I've  changed  my  mind  about  Turlo — that's  all,"  said 
Edgar,  carelessly.  "  The  fact  is,  I  heard  some  things  about 
him  to-day  that  set  me  to  thinking.  People  tell  me  he  is  an 
idle  fellow,  with  very  little  brains,  and  reckless.  Very  prob 
ably,  he  would  make  a  botch  of  things.  I  mean  that  the 
property  shall  stay  in  the  family.  Upon  the  whole,  I  think 
I  had  better  marry." 

The  Colonel  gazed  at  him,  stupefied.  Had  he  heard 
aright  ?  Or  was  Edgar  mad  ? 

"  You  intend  to  take  Turlo's  farm  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"  Why  not  ?     I  paid  my  own  money  for  it." 

"  But  it  was  unfair — that  sale.  And  you  told  me  you 
would  buy  it  for  him." 


328  A  MARYLAND  MANOR. 

"  I  tell  you,  now,  I've  changed  my  mind." 

The  Colonel  groaned.     Edgar  must  be  mad. 

"  But  the  Manor  ? "  he  asked  anxiously,  "  what  about 
that  ?  " 

"  Didn't  I  say  I  might  marry  ?  But  you  may  remain, 
if  you  like." 

"  Good  God ! "  cried  the  Colonel,  his  brain  reeling, 
"  you  said  you  meant  to  leave  it  to  Turlo." 

"Yes,  I  said  so.  Again,  I  tell  you  I've  changed  my 
mind." 

"  But  that  is  impossible,  Edgar  :  it  was  a  promise." 

"My  father  promised  it  to  me,"  retorted  Edgar,  bitingly. 
"  He  changed  his  mind,  and  gave  it  to  you.  I'm  not  without 
a  family  precedent,  you  see." 

"  You  would  make  a  beggar  of  me  1 " 

"  That's  only  what  I  was  when  you  stepped  into  my 
shoes.  I  am  kinder  than  you  were — I  offer  you  a  home." 

The  truth  dawned  suddenly  on  the  Colonel.  It  was  a 
fearful  revelation.  Edgar  had  never  forgiven  him  for  having 
supplanted  him.  He  saw  him,  for  the  first  time,  as  he  really 
was — revengeful,  implacable,  malignant.  His  brother  had 
purposely  wrought  his  ruin.  But  for  him,  he  might,  perhaps, 
have  extricated  himself.  Now,  his  case  was  hopeless.  No ; 
Edgar  was  not  mad  :  incredible  as  it  seemed,  he  was  a 
scoundrel.  The  Colonel's  usually  ruddy  face  grew  white. 

"  I  don't  know  you,  sir !  "  he  said  suddenly,  drawing  him 
self  up  in  his  saddle.  "  We  are  strangers — you  understand. 
Take  alms  from  you — share  your  home  ?  I  would  sooner 
starve.  Of  course,  you  will  foreclose  the  mortgages  ;  there 
will  be  the  form  of  a  sale,  I  presume.  It  is  all  cut-and-dried, 
no  doubt,  like  your  purchase  of  Turlo's  farm.  The  moment 
you  become  its  actual  owner,  I  shall  leave  the  Manor,  never 
to  cross  its  threshold  again." 

As  he  spoke,  he  turned  his  horse's  head,  struck  his  spurs 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  329 

into  him  sharply,  and  galloped  off.  Edgar  gazed  after  him 
with  a  look  of  intense  vexation.  The  interview  had  been  too 
brief,  and  "  Bob  "  had  not  taken  it  as  he  had  hoped.  He 
had  wanted  to  worry  him,  to  taunt  him  with  his  incom 
petence,  his  futility;  to  make  him  feel  his  utter  helplessness  ; 
to  thrust  upon  him  the  bitter  fact  that  his  future  hung 
wholly  upon  his  (Edgar's)  will.  He  had  expected  him  to 
plead  with  him,  to  humble  himself,  and  at  last,  to  accept 
any  conditions  he  might  impose  with  the  pitiful  gratitude  of 
a  broken  man.  But  he  had  cut  him  short,  refused  his  offer, 
spurned  him  as  no  longer  worthy  of  notice.  Edgar  ground 
his  teeth  in  rage. 

"  I'll  make  him  smart  for  this,"  he  exclaimed.  "I'll  sell 
him  out ;  I  will,  by  God  I  " 

The  Colonel  rode  on  in  a  kind  of  fury.  The  Manor  had 
been  stolen  from  him — and  by  his  brother.  He  shuddered 
at  the  thought  of  Edgar's  baseness.  What  more  natural 
than  that  he  should  have  trusted  him  ?  He  had  been  so  fair- 
spoken,  so  affectionate,  so  kind,  and  all  the  time,  he  was 
getting  him  into  his  toils.  He  had  been  glad  to  get  out  of 
Reeve's  hands,  though  Reeve  had  always  been  most  obliging, 
because  he  had  thought  he  would  be  so  much  safer  and  more 
comfortable  in  his  brother's.  And  now,  he  was  ruined. 
Reeve  wouldn't  have  let  him  come  to  this  :  he  would  have 
known  when  to  stop  him.  The  thing  was  monstrous.  What 
a  blow  for  his  mother  who  was  wrapped  up  in  Edgar ! 

To  the  feeling  of  indignation  and  outrage,  succeeded 
gradually  one  of  deep  dejection.  Edgar  was  not  alone  to 
blame.  He,  himself,  had  been  most  culpable.  He  saw 
this,  now.  He  ought  never  to  have  gotten  so  deep  into 
debt.  He  had  drifted  on,  thinking  it  would  all  come 
right,  but  he  must  have  been  weak,  incompetent  He 
sighed  wearily.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to  tell  precisely 
in  what  he  had  been  deficient.  He  had  never  been  con- 


330  A  MARYLAND  MANOR  ; 

sciously  extravagant.  Was  it  a  fault  in  him  that  he  had 
*'  endorsed "  too  freely  for  his  friends  No  gentleman 
could  well  refuse.  Then,  there  was  his  mother's  dower,  the 
annuities  to  his  sisters.  Well,  it  was  all  a  sad  bungle.  "  I 
ought  never  to  have  left  the  army,"  he  said  to  himself,  with 
a  groan.  "  Thank  God  for  one  thing  !  "  he  added,  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  ;  "  I've  always  wanted  to  help  people,  not  to 
hurt  them." 

As  he  drew  near  the  Manor,  the  consciousness  of  failure 
weighed  more  heavily  upon  him.  He  had  lost  the  old  place  ! 
What  would  people  say  of  him  ?  Would  they  not  judge  him 
harshly  ?  Might  not  even  the  dear  ones  who  must  share  his 
ruin  condemn  him  in  their  hearts  ?  How  could  he  look  his 
mother,  his  wife,  his  daughter  in  the  face  ?  It  was  a  bitter 
thought  for  a  man  who  had  always  had  a  naively  good 
opinion  of  himself. 

At  the  gate,  he  checked  his  horse  and  gazed  sadly  about 
him.  The  sun  had  set  in  a  bank  of  clouds,  aglow  with  tints 
of  red  and  saffron,  which  were  massed  about  an  open  bit  of 
sky,  of  a  pale  greenish  hue.  Against  this  vivid  background, 
the  house  showed  almost  black ;  it  lay  in  shadow,  silent,  in 
animate,  funereal.  To  the  Colonel,  in  his  despondency,  it 
was  as  though  its  inmates  had  already  departed,  taking 
away  with  them  its  soul.  The  impression  was  heightened 
by  the  contrast  between  its  sombre  tones  and  the  brightness 
of  the  scene  all  about  it.  The  fading  afterglow  still  lingered 
on  the  lawn,  the  fields,  the  distant  woods,  gay  with  autumn 
colours,  which  encircled  the  great  expanse  of  cultivated 
land. 

Smothering  a  cry  of  anguish,  the  broken-hearted  man  rode 
slowly  down  the  lane.  The  drooping  branches  of  the  elms 
swayed  dolorously  above  him  as  he  passed.  His  old  pointer, 
crouching  on  the  front  verandah,  whined  with  irritating  per 
sistence  as  he  dismounted  at  the  door. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  331 

Anxious  to  hide  his  distress  from  the  other  members  of 
the  family,  he  hastened  to  the  library.  Here,  he  paced  the 
floor  for  some  time,  struggling  hard  to  regain  his  composure. 
Now  and  then,  he  glanced  out  of  the  window  at  the  grave 
yard.  How  quiet  and  peaceful  it  looked  1  Ah,  if  he  were 
only  lying  there  !  Even  Edgar  would  not  begrudge  him  his 
six  feet  of  earth,  the  only  bit  of  the  soil  so  dear  to  him  that 
he  could  now  call  his  own.  He  was  a  failure  :  the  convic 
tion  forced  itself  upon  him,  despite  his  strenuous  efforts  to 
find  excuses  for  himself.  How  could  he  bear  the  revelation  of 
the  fact  to  others  ?  He  had  been  a  man  of  so  much  conse 
quence  ;  a  man  to  whom  everybody  deferred.  People,  now, 
might  justly  say  he  had  been  a  humbug  all  along — a  vain, 
weak  creature  who  deserved  all  he  got.  His  importance  had 
collapsed  like  an  air  bubble.  He  was  of  no  earthly  use ;  he 
would  only  be  a  drag  upon  the  family,  henceforth.  His 
mother's  dower  was  secure ;  he  could  trust  her  to  take  care 
of  his  wife  and  daughter.  It  would  be  impossible  for  him 
to  live  upon  her  money.  Yes,  it  would  be  well  for  all  of 
them  if  he  were  dead.  They  would  grieve  at  first,  but  after 
awhile,  they  would  be  consoled  by  the  thought  that  it  was 
better  for  him  than  to  live  on,  a  broken,  disgraced  man,  a 
shuffling  old  beggar ! 

The  Colonel  shuddered,  and  hastening  to  a  brass-mounted 
cabinet,  he  took  from  it  a  case  of  duelling  pistols.  Lifting 
one  of  them,  he  balanced  it  in  his  hand,  examining  it 
curiously.  They  were  weapons,  handed  down  from  father 
to  son,  which  had  served  the  family  well  in  many  a  crisis 
when  its  honour  was  in  peril.  Were  they  about  to  do  their 
last  duty  now  ?  Yes,  it  was  a  solution  of  everything.  There 
could  be  no  exposure  after  this.  His  brother,  too,  would  be 
saved  from  the  obloquy  he  must  otherwise  bring  upon  him 
self,  and  therefore,  upon  the  family  name.  How  easy  and 
simple  it  seemed  !  A  ball  in  the  temple  from  this  gleaming 


332  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

barrel,  and  he  would  be  at  rest.  Whatever  might  have  been 
his  follies,  death  would  wipe  them  out. 

There  was  a  click  of  the  door-latch,  and  Lydia  entered 
the  room.  At  sight  of  the  pistol,  she  sprang  to  her  father's 
side,  with  a  cry  of  alarm. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Papa  ? "  she  demanded,  anxiously. 

She  had  no  suspicion  of  what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  but 
imagined  some  danger  threatened  him.  Or  perhaps,  he  was 
thinking  again  of  going  South.  He  had  seemed  very  rest 
less,  of  late,  and  she  had  secretly  rejoiced  at  a  severe  attack 
of  gout  which  had  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  travel. 
Even  her  mother's  influence,  she  feared,  might  not  be  suffi 
cient  to  restrain  him  much  longer. 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter,  little  girl,"  said  the  Colonel, 
trying  to  look  careless.  He  placed  the  pistols  on  a  table 
before  him,  as  he  spoke.  "  I  merely  wished  to  see  if  these 
were  in  order." 

"  Ah,  I  know  1  "  she  exclaimed,  shaking  a  finger  at  him 
playfully,  though  her  heart  was  full.  "  You  were  thinking 
of  stealing  away  from  us.  It  won't  do,  Papa:  we  need 
you  here.  How  could  we  possibly  get  along  without 
you  ? " 

Her  words  would  have  seemed  to  him  almost  ironical  a 
moment  before ;  now,  they  suffused  his  heart  with  love  and 
hope.  His  "  little  girl  "  would  stand  by  him,  whatever 
happened.  She  would  never  reproach  him  by  even  so  much 
as  a  glance.  Her  love,  he  knew,  was  staunch,  undoubting. 
For  her,  he  would  still  be  what  he  had  always  been.  And 
the  others,  too,  his  wife,  his  mother — how  could  he  have 
imagined  that  his  death  would  be  a  gain  to  them  ?  Lydia 
was  right.  They  needed  him  because  they  loved  him.  Was 
he  a  coward  to  desert  them  ?  No  !  For  their  sakes,  he  must 
live,  and  bear. 

"  I  won't  '  steal  away,'  my  darling,"  he  said,  with  a  wistful 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  333 

smile.  "  You  were  right ;  I  was  thinking  of  it.  But  the 
temptation  has  passed.  I  promise  to  remain." 

"  It's  hard  for  you,  I  know,  Papa,"  said  Lydia,  twining 
her  arms  about  him  and  kissing  him  fondly.  "  Oh,  thank  you 
so  much !  " 

Without  knowing  it,  she  was  thanking  him  for  consenting 
to  live.  Unconsciously,  she  had,  perhaps,  saved  his  life. 
Had  she  entered  but  a  moment  later,  she  might  have  found 
him  stretched  upon  the  floor,  the  smoking  pistol  clenched  in 
his  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  Colonel  and  Lydia  left  the  library  together.  In  the 
hall,  they  met  Ole  Miss.  She  had  heard  of  the  Colonel's  re 
turn  and  was  seeking  him  to  learn  the  particulars  of  Edgar's 
purchase  of  the  farm. 

"  He  really  succeeded  in  buying  it  for  Turlo  ? "  she  ex 
claimed. 

The  Colonel  was  anxious  to  spare  her.  He  resolved  to 
put  the  best  possible  construction  upon  Edgar's  conduct,  to 
affect  even  to  regard  it  as  justifiable  and  almost  reasonable. 
It  would  hurt  her,  no  matter  how  much  he  tried  to  soften 
it.  There  was  no  escape  from  the  fact  that  Edgar  had  acted 
disingenuously,  to  say  the  least.  But  if  possible,  he  must 
hide  from  her  the  full  extent  of  his  treachery — she  was  so 
fond  of  him. 

"  Yes,  he  bought  it,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "  but  he  seems 
to  think  he'd  better  keep  it.  He  is  doubtful  whether  Turlo 
is  fit  to  manage  it." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  demanded  Ole  Miss, 
brusquely.  "  It's  Turlo's  property  :  .of  course,  the  confisca 
tion  has  no  validity  for  us.  Edgar  may  advise  him,  but  keep  it 
from  him — why,  what  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Edgar  is  the  actual  owner,"  the  Colonel  replied,  evasively. 
"It  seems  people  have  convinced  him  that  Turlo  is  wild  and 
— and  unreliable." 

"  And  you  assented  ?  "  There  was  a  touch  of  temper  in 
Ole  Miss's  voice.  "  I'm  surprised  at  both  of  you,  Robert — 
at  Edgar  for  suggesting  such  a  thing,  and  you  for  permitting 
your  son  to  be  set  aside  because  of  gossip.  Turlo  is  wild, 
but  so  was  Edgar,  himself,  years  ago.  Time  will  cure  that, 

334 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  335 

in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other.  If  Edgar  thinks  Turlo  is 
unfit  to  manage  his  own  property,  he  may  take  it  into  his 
head  he  ought  not  to  have  the  Manor." 

"  He  has  said  so,"  remarked  the  Colonel,  quietly.  He  saw 
his  task  might  be  difficult  and  nerved  himself  to  seem  com 
posed.  It  would  not  do  to  let  his  mother  suspect  his  agita 
tion.  "  I  can't  deny  the  Manor  would  be  saier  in  Edgar's 
hands,"  he  added. 

Ole  Miss  gazed  at  him  in  bewilderment.  Was  he  in 
earnest  ? 

"  And  after  Edgar,  what  ? "  she  asked,  incredulously. 
"  Does  he  mean  to  leave  the  Manor  to  Judith — a  woman  ? " 

"  He  talks  of  marrying,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  Good  Heavens !  "  cried  Ole  Miss,  thunderstruck.  "  What, 
then,  is  to  become  of  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  know."  The  Colonel  looked  away  from  her 
guiltily.  He  knew  if  he  met  her  searching  glance,  she  would 
read  his  secret.  "  I  haven't  yet  decided  what  I  shall  do." 

"  This  is  folly,"  she  said,  drawing  a  quick  breath.  "  You 
must  have  misunderstood  him.  He  could  never  have  meant  he 
would  take  the  Manor  from  you.  No  doubt,  he  spoke  hastily, 
under  a  false  impression  about  Turlo." 

"  I  thought  so  at  first,  but  he  soon  convinced  me  he  had 
made  up  his  mind." 

Strong  though  she  was,  the  old  lady  began  to  tremble,  and 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  If  this  were  true,  Edgar  must  be 
demented.  Dispossess  his  brother  ?  Why  that  would  be  to 
break  up  the  family,  to  put  them  out  of  doors  1  And  if  he 
really  meant  to  keep  Turlo's  farm,  he  would  deprive  them  of 
their  only  refuge.  It  was  too  horrible  for  belief.  There 
must  be  some  explanation  which  would  at  least  be  plausible. 
How  absurd  of  Edgar,  at  his  age,  to  think  of  marrying  again  I 
It  was  evident  there  was  something  wrong  with  him.  She 
would  see  him  as  soon  as  possible ;  the  matter  must  be 


336  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

cleared  up  at  once.  If  his  mind  was  really  unhinged,  the 
sooner  he  was  placed  under  medical  treatment,  the  better. 
Unless  he  were  taken  in  hand  without  delay,  some  catastrophe 
might  happen. 

"  Where  is  Edgar  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  left  him  on  the  road ;  he  has  probably  gone  home." 

"  Tell  Caesar  to  get  the  carriage  for  me ;  I  shall  go  and 
see  him." 

The  Colonel  saw  that  he  must  be  more  explicit.  An  inter 
view  between  his  mother  and  Edgar,  in  his  present  temper, 
might  be  disastrous.  He  could  hardly  fail  to  reveal  his  true 
character  to  her.  The  horror  of  such  a  discovery  might  be 
too  much  for  her.  It  was  still  possible  to  hide  a  part  of  the 
truth,  provided  he  could  dissuade  her.  But  he  did  not  wish 
Lydia  to  hear  what  might  pass  between  them.  He  meant  to 
take  the  blame  upon  himself,  as  far  as  he  could,  and  thus  to 
shield  Edgar.  He  must  shield  him,  at  any  cost,  for  his 
mother's  sake.  It  would  not  hurt  her  so  much  to  learn  of 
his  folly  ;  at  worst,  it  was  not  disgraceful,  nor  would  it  come 
to  her  as  a  shock.  No  doubt,  she  had  seen  it  all  along.  Be 
sides,  she  had  never  loved  him  as  she  loved  Edgar.  But  it 
was  enough  to  invite  her  condemnation  ;  he  could  not  bear 
to  humiliate  himself  before  his  child. 

"  Go  to  your  mother,  my  dear,"  he  said,  turning  to  her  and 
laying  a  hand  caressingly  upon  her  shoulder.  "  Tell  her 
what  I've  said,  as  gently  as  you  can.  I'll  come  up  presently 
and  explain  all  to  her.  It  mustn't  be  broken  to  her  suddenly, 
and  I'm  afraid  she  might  hear  it  from  some  one  else  who 
wouldn't  be  so  careful  as  you  are  sure  to  be." 

Lydia's  eyes  were  brave,  though  wet  with  tears.  She 
divined  the  truth  ;  her  father  was  ruined  !  A  sudden  terror 
chilled  her.  Was  that  why  he  had  taken  the  pistol  from  its 
case  ?  No,  no  1  She'wouldn't  permit  herself  to  harbour  the 
dreadful  thought.  He  loved  them  all  too  much  for  that. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  337 

"  I've  reached  the  end,  Mother,"  the  Colonel  said  slowly, 
when  Lydia  had  left  them.  He  handed  her  a  chair,  and 
the  old  lady  sank  down  into  it  mechanically,  watching  him 
the  while  with  wide-open,  anxious  eyes. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  continued,  with  a  sudden  gulp,  "  I've 
mismanaged  things,  somehow.  Edgar  regards  himself  as  a 
kind  of  trustee  for  the  family.  He  thinks  he  ought  to  take 
the  Manor  and  start  afresh.  It  may  seem  a  little  hard,  but 
it's  reasonable  enough,  from  his  point  of  view.  And  you 
know,  it  is  what  has  been  done  in  other  families.  It  isn't 
the  first  time  one  branch  has  been  set  aside  for  another  and 
a  stronger.  Edgar  says,  and  very  justly,  that  he  was  thrust 
out  for  me ;  that  I  had  my  chance,  and  he  has  proved  him 
self  more'capable." 

Ole  Miss  gave  a  low  moan.  The  truth  burst  upon  her. 
Edgar  was  selfish,  cruel,  perfidious,  and  Robert  was  pleading 
for  him.  Why  ?  To  spare  her,  of  course.  Edgar  had  lied 
to  her — that  was  evident.  He  had  been  deceiving  her 
throughout.  She  had  thought  his  father  hard  on  him  ;  he 
had  been  only  just.  Yes,  he  had  been  more  clear-sighted 
than  she.  Her  maternal  weakness  had  misled  her.  She 
had  wasted  her  fondness  on  the  son  who  was  unworthy,  and 
had  given  only  what  was  left  to  the  son  who,  whatever  his 
faults  might  be,  had  never  failed  in  tenderness  to  her  and 
had  always  shown  himself  to  be  a  genuine,  upright  man. 
Her  heart  smote  her  as  she  saw  him  standing  there  before 
her,  with  bowed  head,  as  if  awaiting  her  verdict.  No  doubt, 
she  had  always  seemed  cold  to  him,  this  noble-hearted  son 
who  thus  abased  himself  in  order  that  she  might  not  suffer. 
It  hurt  her  to  think  he  could  imagine  she  would  be  only  too 
ready  to  find  excuses  for  her  favourite,  Edgar,  and  to  accept 
his  suggestion  that  he,  Robert,  was  chiefly  to  blame. 

"  Robert  I  "  she  cried,  rising  hastily  and  stretching  out  her 
arms.  He  sprang  towards  her,  startled,  and  .she  hugged  him 
12 


338  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

to  her  breast  with  a  swift,  protecting  gesture,  as  though  he 
were  a  child  again  whom  she  must  shield,  and  petted  him 
fondly,  with  trembling  hands. 

He  understood  her :  there  was  no  need  for  further  words. 
She  knew  the  truth  he  had  tried  so  hard  to  hide.  For  the 
first  time,  he  felt  that  her  love  flowed  out  to  him  in  full,  im 
petuous  current.  It  gave  him  a  new  sense  of  dignity,  of 
courage.  Misfortune  had  brought  him  the  blessing  he  had 
so  often  craved.  Her  tone,  as  she  uttered  the  one  word 
"  Robert,"  had  told  him  he  was  now  her  only  son. 


THE  Colonel  had  another  ordeal  before  him.  He  must 
confess  his  shortcomings  to  his  wife.  He  had  no  fear  of  re 
proaches  from  her.  She  had  always  deferred  to  him  with  a 
mute,  unquestioning  regard  ;  a  timid  humility.  He  might  not 
have  been  so  self-confident  in  the  past  had  she  been  at  all  as 
sertive  or  critical.  Even  the  most  modest  of  men  may  become 
conceited  if  they  are  dieted  constantly  on  a  woman's  homage. 
It  was  all  the  harder  for  him  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it 
now  that  he  knew  his  wife  had  placed  an  absurdly  high 
estimate  upon  him.  He  must  destroy  her  illusion  and 
make  her  suffer.  For  years,  it  had  been  his  constant  care 
to  humour  her  fancies,  to  guard  her  against  the  smallest  anx 
iety,  to  suppress  every  possible  cause  of  agitation  or  worry. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  could  not  bear  to  be  any  longer  the 
object  of  her  unsuspecting  flattery.  It  seemed  impossible 
for  him  to  take  her  hand  in  his,  to  look  into  her  eyes,  to  ac 
cept  her  fond  caresses,  knowing  himself,  as  he  appeared  to 
her,  to  be  a  sham. 

He  entered  her  room  on  tiptoe,  as  was  his  habit.  She  had 
a  nervous  dread  of  noises,  and  the  Colonel  had  trained  him 
self  to  move  softly  in  her  presence ;  to  moderate  his  usually 
loud,  hearty  tones ;  to  steer  carefully  about  among  the 
furniture  in  the  nearly  always  darkened  chamber.  He  in 
variably  muttered  an  oath  beneath  his  breath  at  his  clumsi 
ness  whenever,  by  any  mischance,  he  knocked  over  some  ob 
ject  or  stumbled  against  a  chair. 

He  found  his  wife  half  buried  among  cushions  in  a  great 
easy  chair  before  a  bright  open  fire.  Lydia,  seated  at  her 

339 


340  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

side,  was  holding  one  of  her  hands.  Mrs.  Cheston  was 
pressing  the  other  convulsively  against  her  heart.  Her  face 
was  tense  with  fear ;  her  dark  eyes  alert  and  strangely 
bright,  like  those  of  a  hunted  animal.  As  her  husband  en 
tered,  she  shuddered  and  glanced  at  him  quickly,  with  an  ap 
prehensive  look.  Lydia,  on  seeing  her  father,  disengaged 
her  hand  and  stole  away.  She  fancied  they  would  wish  to 
be  alone.  The  Colonel  took  the  seat  she  had  occupied,  and 
drew  it  closer  to  his  wife. 

"  Lydia  tells  me  Edgar  means  to  take  the  Manor  from 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Cheston,  faintly. 

«  Yes — I'm  afraid  he  will." 

"  I  knew  he  would." 

Her  voice  was  scarcely  above  a  whisper.  The  words  were 
uttered  slowly,  hesitatingly,  but  with  a  certain  emphasis,  as 
though  to  convince  her  husband. 

The  Colonel  gazed  at  her  in  surprise.  How  had  she 
known  ?  No  one  else  had  suspected  Edgar's  intention,  nor 
had  she  ever  hinted  such  an  idea  to  him. 

"  You  did  wrong  to  trust  him,"  she  added.  "  You  were 
always  too  confiding." 

The  Colonel  rubbed  his  eyes.  Was  he  awake  or  dream 
ing  ?  It  seemed  she  could  find  some  fault  in  him. 

"  Edgar  is  so  different  from  you,"  she  continued,  wearily. 
"  Of  course,  you  couldn't  understand  him.  He  moved  in 
the  dark — you,  in  the  open.  He  meant  to  have  the  Manor, 
all  along.  Besides,  he  has  hated  you  for  years.  I  ought  to 
have  warned  you,  but  I  hoped  he'd  never  return.  When  he 
did  come,  I  was  afraid." 

She  turned  her  head  away  from  him,  and  gazed  fixedly 
into  the  fire. 

"  But  why  should  he  hate  me  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel,  his 
curiosity  getting  the  better,  for  the  moment,  of  his  wonder 
at  her  revelations. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  341 

"  Because  he  thought  you  induced  your  father  to  disin 
herit  him  in  your  favour." 

"  How  absurd  1  "  cried  the  Colonel,  almost  angrily.  "  You 
know  I  didn't  want  to  take  the  place  ;  that  I  consented  only 
from  a  sense  of  duty  and  because  Edgar  had  behaved — well, 
rather  badly." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  Edgar  doesn't.  He  really  thinks  he 
has  a  grievance  against  you.  He  has  said,  I  believe,  that 
there  was  a  conspiracy  to  ruin  him  with  your  father.  Some 
one  undoubtedly  exposed  him  to  the  Judge.  He  thinks  it 
was  you — or  some  one  in  your  interest." 

"  But  this  is  too  much  I  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "  I  can 
understand  his  feeling  sore  against  me  for  a  time,  but  to 
charge  me  with  stealing  the  Manor  from  him  !  And  in  such 
an  underhand  way.  As  if  I  could  have  said  anything  to 
father  against  him  behind  his  back.  Nothing  could  have 
tempted  me  to  hold  the  Manor  with  such  a  cloud  on  my  title  : 
he  ought  to  know  that." 

"  He  couldn't  believe  it ;  such  scruples  would  be  incom 
prehensible  to  him." 

There  was  a  bitterness  in  her  tone  which  should  have 
caught  the  Colonel's  attention,  but  he  was  absorbed  by  his 
thoughts.  He  understood,  now,  the  springs  of  Edgar's  ac 
tions,  which  had  seemed  so  inexplicable.  He  had  de 
nounced  his  brother  to  himself  as  a  scoundrel ;  it  seemed 
that  Edgar  thought  much  the  same  of  him  1 

"  But  how  did  you  discover  all  this  ?  "  His  tone  was  mere 
ly  inquisitive ;  it  was  evident  he  saw  nothing  suspicious  in 
the  fact  that  she  was  so  surprisingly  well  informed.  "  You 
must  have  found  it  out  quite  recently ;  otherwise,  you  would 
have  told  me.  You  would  never  have  permitted  me  to  rest 
under  so  base  an  imputation." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure,"  she  answered,  with  a  flicker  of  spirit. 
"  I  knew  the  charge  was  groundless.  No  one  who  knew  you 


342  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

could  attach  the  least  importance  to  it.  It  would  have  hurt 
you  to  hear  it  and  you'd  have  been  capable  of  offering  to 
give  up  the  Manor.  Now,  it  doesn't  matter :  I  felt  I  ought 
to  make  the  situation  clear  to  you." 

"  Give  up  the  Manor  ?  Of  course,  I'd  have  given  it 
up!" 

"  To  a  man  like  Edgar  ?  Yes — I  believe  you  would.  You 
never  stop  to  think  of  consequences  when  your  pride  is  in 
volved,  or  you  fancy  honour  calls  you.  You  would  strip  your 
self  of  everything  in  a  sudden  impulse  of  generosity.  I  don't 
believe  there  was  ever  a  man  so  blind  to  his  own  interests, 
so  rashly  improvident,  so  nobly  unselfish.  That  is  why  I 
adore  you,  Robert  1 " 

The  Colonel  stared  at  her,  amazed.  He  forgot  she  had 
not  yet  answered  his  question.  It  was  immaterial  to  him, 
now,  as  to  how  she  had  gained  her  knowledge  of  Edgar's 
opinions.  He  could  think  only  of  the  astonishing  fact  that 
she  had  not  loved  him  ignorantly,  after  all,  but  had  known 
him  better  than  he  had  known  himself.  And  she  loved  him 
— so  she  had  said — -because  of  her  knowledge.  The  very 
weaknesses  with  which  he  had  reproached  himself  as  the  cause 
of  their  ruin  had  actually  endeared  him  to  her.  What  a 
strange  puzzle  women  were  !  He  drew  a  long  breath  of  re 
lief.  He  would  have  no  confession  to  make  to  her.  Deeply 
moved,  he  leaned  over  suddenly,  to  kiss  her. 

"  Don't  1  "  she  cried,  shrinking  away  from  him  with  a  look 
of  distress,  almost  of  terror. 

He  sprang  up  alarmed,  fearing  she  was  about  to  have  a 
spasm.  He  saw  she  was  trembling  like  a  leaf. 

"Leave  me,"  she  murmured,  sitting  bolt  upright  and 
clutching  the  arms  of  the  chair,  "  please  leave  me,  at 
once  1 " 

The  Colonel,  hardly  knowing  what  to  do,  called  out 
«'  Phyllis  1 "  Perhaps  she  would  be  able  to  help  him. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  343 

The  mulatto,  who  was  suspiciously  near — she  had,  in  fact, 
been  listening  at  the  door — entered  noiselessly  from  the  ad 
joining  room. 

"  Shall  I  send  for  the  Doctor  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel,  in  an 
anxious  whisper,  drawing  her  aside.  Mrs.  Cheston  followed 
them  suspiciously  with  her  eyes ;  what  were  they  whispering 
about  ? 

"  No,  sah,"  answered  Phyllis,  "  jes '  leave  her  alone  wid 
me  ;  I'll  fetch  her  roun'." 

The  Colonel,  always  obedient  to  his  wife's  slightest  wish, 
hurried  from  the  room,  but  did  not  go  far.  Outside  in  the 
hall,  he  paced  up  and  down  restlessly,  awaiting  a  reassuring 
word  from  Phyllis. 

"  My  God,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  groaned  Mrs.  Cheston,  cover 
ing  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  I  can't  tell  him !  " 

"  What  ails  yer  ?  "  asked  Phyllis,  almost  roughly.  She 
knew  well  enough.  Had  she  watched  her  mistress,  year 
after  year,  for  nothing  ?  How  often  she  had  seen  her  writhe 
under  her  husband's  unsuspecting  tenderness,  stung  by  the 
desire  to  confess  her  guilt  towards  him,  and  forced  by  the 
fear  of  consequences  to  suppress  it !  Had  the  time  come  at 
last  ?  Phyllis  feared  she  might  still  hesitate  ;  she  longed  to 
choke  her  into  confession.  She  wanted  but  one  thing,  now 
— the  exquisite  vengeance  of  seeing  her  mistress,  this  deli 
cate  fine  lady  whom  she  hated  with  the  gathering  bitterness 
of  years  of  subjection  to  her  petulant  whims,  her  capri 
cious  tyranny,  humiliate  herself  before  the  man  who  believed 
her  to  be  a  kind  of  saint,  in  spite  of  her  frequent  fits  of  tem 
per,  as  Phyllis  chose  to  regard  her  seizures. 

"I'm  afraid  of  him,"  answered  Mrs.  Cheston,  with  a 
shiver. 

Phyllis  gave  a  slight  start ;  there  was  a  gleam  of  fierce  joy 
in  her  sombre  eyes.  Miss  Flor'  had  never  shown  the  slight 
est  inclination  to  confide  in  her.  On  the  contrary,  she  had 


344  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

always  held  her  at  a  distance,  jealously  guarding  herself 
against  betrayal.  It  was  evident  she  was  desperate. 

"Who?  Marster?"  she  asked,  with  insidious  softness. 
"  Why  he  wouldn't  hurt  nobody — least  uv  all  you." 

"  He'd  never  forgive  me." 

"  You  want  ter  tell  him  somethin'  ?  "  Phyllis's  voice  was 
almost  purring.  If  she  could  only  beguile  her  into  doing  it ! 
It  were  almost  too  much  to  hope  that  she  might  have  a  hand 
in  bringing  about  the  exposure.  She  had  often  racked  her 
brain,  of  late,  for  some  means  of  enlightening  the  Colonel. 
Marse  Edgar  had  disappointed  her.  For  some  reason,  he 
seemed  inclined  to  keep  his  brother  in  the  dark  about  his 
wife.  But  Marster  must  know.  She  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  being  cheated  of  the  special  vengeance  she  had 
cherished  for  herself.  Was  not  this  her  opportunity  ?  To 
make  her  mistress  the  means  of  her  own  undoing  by  leading 
her  gently  up  to  the  point  of  betraying  herself — that  would 
be  grand  !  She  waited  in  breathless  suspense. 

"  It  is  killing  me,"  groaned  Mrs.  Cheston.  "  I've  had  to 
bear  it  all  alone  so  many  years." 

"Tell  him,  then,"  said  Phyllis,  encouragingly.  "Git  it 
off'n  yo'  mind.  Whatever  it  is,  it  kain't  be  enny  wuss  than 
what  you're  sufferin'  now.  En'  you'd  breathe  easier,  en' 
mebbe,  sleep." 

"He'd  despise  me — I  couldn't  stand  that.  You  don't 
know,  Phyllis.  If  you  did,  you  wouldn't  urge  me." 

"  Mebbe  not."  There  was  a  ring  of  irony  in  her  voice, 
though  she  strove  hard  to  make  it  tender.  "  But,  mistus,  he 
might  find  out  fur  hisse'f.  As  he  left  me,  he  whispered, 
'  She's  actin'  very  quarely,  Phyllis.'  He's  thinkin'  about 
you,  Marster  is.  It  would  be  harder  still  fur  you  ef  some 
one  else  tole  him."  A  devilish  thought  came  suddenly  to 
her.  Bending  close  to  her  mistress,  she  muttered  in  her  ear, 
"  He's  close  outside  de  do' ;  p'r'aps,  he's  heerd  you." 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  345 

Mrs.  Cheston  leaped  to  her  feet,  white  as  death,  and  fixed 
her  eyes  in  terror  on  the  door. 

"You  are  right,"  she  exclaimed,  breathlessly.  "Bring 
him  to  me.  I  mustn't  lose  a  moment.  If  he  is  to  hear  it, 
he  must  hear  it  from  me — and  at  once.  I  thought  there 
couldn't  be  anything  worse  than-  for  me  to  tell  him — but 
there  is ;  it  would  be  to  have  him  suspect  me." 

Phyllis  turned  away  from  her  quickly.  She  was  just  in 
time  to  hide  the  exultation  in  her  face.  The  thing  was  as 
good  as  done. 

"Marsterl  "  she  cried,  in  a  choking  voice.  The  Colonel 
hurried  into  the  room  as  she  left  it  only  to  hide  behind  the 
nearest  door. 

"  You  are  better,  my  dear,"  he  said  cheerily,  rejoiced  to 
find  his  wife  standing. 

She  did  not  answer  him,  but  burst  forth  impetuously,  in  a 
loud,  harsh  voice,  fearful  lest  her  resolution  fail : 

"  It  was  I  who  told  your  father  1  I  loved  Edgar ;  he  pro 
fessed  to  love  me,  and  I  learned  his  secrets.  He  jilted  me 
for  Judith  Magruder.  I  married  you  from  pique,  ambition, 
what  you  will — and  then  exposed  him  so  that  you  might 
have  the  Manor.  Cast  me  off  if  you  will — I  deserve  it. 
But  know  this — I  soon  learned  to  love  you.  That  is  why  I 
couldn't  tell  you.  It  has  eaten  into  my  heart — this  dreadful 
secret.  Even  now,  I  couldn't  have  told  you,  if  I  hadn't 
feared  you  might  have  begun  to  suspect." 

The  Colonel  was  stunned ;  but  only  for  a  moment.  He 
fancied  he  understood — his  wife  was  overwrought ;  it  was  an 
hallucination  that  had  suddenly  seized  her.  He  glanced  at 
her  pityingly,  his  eyes  full  of  love,  reproaching  himself  for 
having  excited  her.  Mrs.  Cheston  was  so  sure  of  his  con 
demnation  that  she  waited  only  for  some  exclamation  of 
anger  or  of  scorn.  He  said  nothing,  being  so  bewildered,  at 
first,  that  he  did  not  know  what  to  say.  The  suspense  was 


346  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

too  much  for  her.  She  swayed  suddenly,  and  would  have 
fallen,  had  he  not  thrown  his  arms  about  her. 

"  There,  my  dear,"  he  said  gently,  as  he  let  her  sink  into 
her  chair,  "  rest  quiet  for  awhile.  You  mustn't  bother  your 
head  with  such  fancies." 

"  You  don't  believe  me  ?  "  she  gasped.  "  It's  all  true — 
every  word  1  " 

"  And  if  it  were,"  he  asked,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his 
and  pressing  them,  "  what  difference  would  that  make  ?  It 
happened  years  ago.  I  knew  you  cared  for  Edgar — when  you 
were  a  mere  girl.  It  was  wrong  of  you  to  tell  father  with 
out  consulting  me,  but — I  understand.  Now  listen  to  me : 
I'm  sure  you  really  loved  me,  from  the  first.  It  may  be  con 
ceit  in  me  " — he  smiled,  a  trifle  sadly — "  but  you've  given  me 
cause  enough  to  be  vain.  No  wife  could  have  been  more  of 
a  flatterer  1  Do  you  suppose  I'm  so  ungrateful  as  to  forget 
all  that  ?  It's  impossible  for  me  to  doubt  your  love,  and 
isn't  that  sufficient  for  me?  Edgar  has  hurt  us  enough; 
don't  let  him  come  between  us,  at  this  late  day.  Why,  we're 
almost  an  old  couple,  my  dear  1  And  we  have  trouble  to 
face  together."  He  stooped  again  to  kiss  her,  and  this  time, 
she  did  not  shrink  from  him.  Phyllis  was  right,  she  said  to 
herself,  with  a  great  sigh  of  thankfulness:  she  breathed 
easily,  now ;  she  might  be  able  to  sleep !  Her  husband's 
arms  were  supporting  her ;  her  tired  head  rested  on  his 
shoulder.  "  I  always  knew  you  were  good,"  she  whispered 
timidly,  "  but  I — I  little  dreamed  how  good — how  generous." 

He  was  not  generous  in  the  least,  the  Colonel  said  to  him 
self  ;  it  was  easy  for  him  to  do  what  he  had  done,  for  he  was 
still  quite  sure  she  had  exaggerated  her  fault.  Besides,  if 
she  had  sinned,  she  had  suffered,  and — he  loved  her. 

Phyllis  had  heard  every  word,  and  knew  that  her  daring 
ruse  had  failed.  It  had  served  only  to  bring  husband  and 
wife  closer  together,  to  make  her  mistress  happy  I  She  had 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  347 

been  baffled,  after  all,  by  Marster's  softness.  Grinding 
her  teeth  in  fury,  she  shook  her  clenched  fist  at  the  uncon 
scious  Colonel. 

"Oh,  you  fool,  you  idjitl  "  she  hissed,  "you  ought  ter 
tromple  her  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THERE  was  a  solemn  consultation  that  evening  between 
Miss  Twiggs  and  Mr.  Plunkett,  in  a  corner  of  the  hall,  after 
tea.  They  had  heard  from  Ole  Miss  of  the  disaster  that 
had  overtaken  the  Colonel,  and  both  being  pensioners  on 
his  bounty,  they  had  been  drawn  together  by  mutual  recog 
nition  of  the  fact  that  they  ought  to  take  some  action. 
Neither  liked  the  other,  and  only  the  sense  of  their  common 
status  in  the  household,  could  have  brought  them  into  any 
possible  sympathy  or  co-operation.  Miss  Twiggs,  who  was 
usually  mild  in  her  judgments,  had  long  ago  reluctantly 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  Mr.  Plunkett  was  a  selfish, 
cynical,  mischief-making  old  bachelor,  whose  only  utility 
was  that  of  discipline  for  one's  patience.  Mr.  Plunkett 
anathematised  Miss  Twiggs  as  a  silly  old  maid  who  couldn't 
even  play  a  game  of  chess  without  bothering  him  with  ab 
surdly  irrelevant  questions.  They  never  quarrelled  openly, 
but  they  often  sparred  at  each  other  with  more  or  less 
malice. 

Each  was  now  intensely  curious  as  to  what  the  other  meant 
to  do.  If  Miss  Twiggs  deemed  it  to  be  her  duty  to  leave 
the  Manor,  Mr.  Plunkett  was  afraid  he,  too,  would  have  to 
go.  It  would  hardly  be  decent  of  him  not  to  make  the 
offer.  She  was  so  infernally  conscientious — that  woman ! 
It  wouldn't  really  make  any  difference  whether  either  of 
them  left  or  not.  They  couldn't  help  the  Colonel  by  doing 
so.  He  had  lost  the  Manor,  anyhow.  The  whole  family, 
except,  perhaps,  Ole  Miss,  would  have  to  vacate  after  the 
sale  which  seemed  inevitable.  In  the  meantime,  what 
did  it  matter  if  there  were  one  or  two  mouths  less  to 

348 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  349 

feed?  For  his  part,  he  hated  the  idea  of  giving  up- 
his  snug  berth  until  the  very  last  minute.  Miss  Twiggs 
was  curious  for  a  different  reason.  She  was  wonder 
ing  whether  Mr.  Plunkett  were  capable  of  the  smallest 
scrap  of  generosity.  As  for  herself,  she  had  fully  made  up 
her  mind  as  to  her  course  of  action.  Not  only  would  she 
instantly  relieve  the  family  of  the  burden  of  supporting 
her,  slight  though  it  was,  but  all  she  had  in  the  world  she 
would  place  at  the  Colonel's  disposal.  It  wasn't  much,  but 
it  might  help.  As  to  her  own  future,  that  was  nothing.  She 
had  been  blessed  with  many  years  of  happiness  and  tender 
affection  at  the  Manor ;  if  she  could  give  ever  so  little  in 
return,  it  would  be  easy  to  suffer  any  privation.  If  no  one 
would  take  her  in  or  give  her  work,  well — there  was  the 
almshouse.  She  had  often  visited  it  with  Ole  Miss,  who  was 
one  of  the  managers.  It  was  by  no  means  a  bad  place.  On 
the  contrary,  it  had  points  in  its  favour.  It  had  once  been 
the  home  of  a  wealthy  family,  and  was  a  great  brick  man 
sion,  in  the  midst  of  a  fine  grove  of  trees,  with  a  pleasant 
view  of  the  river.  The  rooms  were  large  and  airy,  and  so 
clean.  She  might  be  very  comfortable  there.  Disgrace  ? 
It  would  be  hard  to  be  treated  as  a  pauper,  but  what  mat 
tered  even  that,  if  she  could  help  those  who  had  been  so 
good  to  her,  in  their  hour  of  distress  ? 

No ;  she  had  no  serious  concern  for  herself,  but  she  was 
nervously  anxious  about  Mr.  Plunkett.  Could  he  be  in 
duced  to  do  the  proper  thing,  or  would  he  simply  draw  into 
the  shell  of  his  selfishness  and  wound  the  Colonel  by  his  in 
gratitude  ?  She  had  an  inspiration  that  frightened  her,  at 
first.  The  zeal  of  the  missionary  was  born  in  her.  What  a 
fine  stroke  it  would  be  to  convert  him  to  her  way  of  thinking, 
to  persuade  him  to  add  his  hoard  to  hers  1  She  knew  he  had 
a  small  annuity,  and  he  must  have  saved  nearly  all  of  it,  for 
no  one  had  ever  known  him  to  spend  anything  considerable  ; 


350  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

his  parsimony  was  proverbial.  His  clothes,  his  cigars,  his 
medicines — everything  he  needed — were  supplied  by  the 
Colonel.  Even  his  doctor's  bills  were  included  in  the  family 
account.  Besides,  he  need  have  no  fear  of  the  future  ;  he 
had  plenty  of  relatives  and  friends  who  would  feel  it  to  be 
their  duty,  if  not  their  pleasure,  to  care  for  him.  But  it  was 
a  formidable  undertaking  to  make  him  see  things  as  she  saw 
them.  He  had  so  little  sentiment.  Ah,  if  she  but  knew 
how  to  reach  him  !  It  was  so  unfortunate  he  didn't  like  her, 
and  was  accustomed  to  sneer  at  her  opinions.  She  wished, 
now,  she  had  made  some  effort  to  ingratiate  herself  with 
him,  to  humour  his  prejudices.  People  would  have  talked,  to 
be  sure,  and  they  might  even  have  laughed  at  her  for  setting 
her  cap  at  him.  Nothing  was  more  trying  to  her  than  to  be 
teased  in  that  way — she  had  always  been  painfully  modest, 
shrinking  sensitively  from  any  but  the  most  formal  contact 
with  the  ruder  sex — but  she  could  have  borne  that,  also,  had 
she  but  known  what  was  to  happen. 

The  conversation  did  not  begin  auspiciously.  At  first, 
Mr.  Plunkett  seemed  to  be  engrossed  with  the  probable  effect 
of  the  catastrophe  upon  his  own  fortunes,  and  to  commiser 
ate  himself  far  more  than  the  Colonel. 

"  You'll  stay  till  after  the  sale,"  he  said,  eyeing  her  sternly. 
He  wished  to  anticipate  any  possible  suggestions  from  her. 
He  had  an  idea  he  could  cow  her  into  acquiescence  if  he  took 
strong  ground  at  the  outset — she  was  such  a  weak,  fluttering 
creature  1 

The  crisis  was  upon  her.  Miss  Twiggs  drew  herself  up 
stiffly,  feeling  very  nervous. 

"  No  ;  I  shall  leave  to-morrow." 

"  But  that's  nonsense ! "  he  said,  tartly.  Her  prompt 
answer  was  altogether  too  decided.  What  if  she  should 
prove  obstinate  ?  Weak  people  sometimes  were.  "  It  won't 
make  the  least  difference  to  them." 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  351 

"  But  it  makes  a  great  deal  of  difference  to  me."  There 
was  a  faint  touch  of  colour  in  her  withered  cheeks,  and  her 
bunches  of  corkscrew  curls  trembled  perceptibly.  "  Do  you 
think  I  could  eat  their  bread  another  day  after  knowing 
they're  ruined  ? " 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  look  at  it  in  that  way,"  he 
said,  sullenly.  "  At  any  rate,  you  needn't  be  so  cock-sure 
about  it !  " 

"  Of  course,  you  don't  think  of  staying  ? " 

She  was  actually  forcing  his  hand.  Her  temerity  sur 
prised  her.  Perhaps,  after  all,  she  was  not  such  a  coward 
as  she  had  feared. 

Mr.  Plunkett  gave  a  little  gasp.  Her  question  seemed  to 
him  audacious.  He  tried  to  parry  the  blow,  but  she  followed 
it  up  with  a  dash  and  energy  that  quite  took  his  breath  away. 

"  They've  been  so  kind  to  us,"  she  exclaimed,  eagerly. 
"  Neither  you  nor  I  could  do  less  than  show  our  anxiety  not 
to  be  a  tax  upon  them.  You  see  that,  don't  you  ?  We 
ought  to  do  more ;  we  ought  to  help  them." 

"  Help  them  ?  How  ?  "  he  demanded,  wondering  what 
she  could  be  driving  at. 

"  With  every  penny  we  can  scrape  together."  She  had 
taken  the  dreaded  leap,  and  felt  quite  elated.  ''  I've  put  by 
some  money — thanks  to  their  generosity.  You  must  have 
done  the  same  thing.  All  these  years,  we  have  lived  here — 
comfortable,  well  cared  for,  happy.  Who  knows  ?  If  we 
give  him  our  savings,  perhaps  they  may  enable  the  Colonel 
to  tide  over  the  difficulty.  At  least,  we  would  have  done 
all  we  could.  Do  they  not  deserve  it  of  us  ? " 

Mr.  Plunkett  was  inclined  to  pinch  himself  to  make  sure 
he  wasn't  dreaming.  Was  the  woman  daft  ?  Give  up  his 
carefully  hoarded  savings — money  he  had  accumulated, 
dollar  by  dollar,  with  infinite  pains  and  labour,  as  a  modest 
provision  for  his  old  age  ?  And  she  ? Could  she  be  in 


352  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

earnest  in  proposing  to  beggar  herself,  now,  when  she  was 
about  to  be  cast  out  upon  the  world  ?  What  folly  I  He 
ought,  perhaps,  to  oppose  her  for  her  own  sake — but  that 
was  not  so  important.  What  concerned  him  was  that  her 
rashness  would  compromise  him.  The  Colonel  might  think 
he  ought  to  imitate  her,  or  at  least,  would  expect  some  kind 
of  offer.  Hang  the  idiot  !  He  had  always  known  she  was 
foolish,  but  he  had  never  imagined  her  freaks  would  have 
any  grave  significance  for  him.  But  this  was  serious.  He 
couldn't  afford  to  have  the  Colonel  think  him  ungrateful  or 
mean,  and  he  might  seem  to  be  both  by  contrast  with  Miss 
Twiggs,  if  she  persisted  in  her  purpose. 

It  was  in  her  power  to  put  him  in  an  awkward  position, 
not  only  with  the  Colonel,  but  before  the  whole  community. 
By  ignoring  the  claim  upon  him  which  she  had  so  unexpect 
edly  threatened  to  create  by  her  example,  he  might  damage 
himself  irretrievably  in  the  estimation  of  those  whose  good 
opinion  he  valued,  more  or  less,  and  expose  himself  to  rebuffs 
from  the  persons  whom  he  counted  upon  to  offer  him  hospi 
tality.  He  had  always  flattered  himself  that  he  was  a  privi 
leged  character ;  a  person  whose  opinions  carried  weight ;  a 
recognised  authority  upon  questions  of  propriety.  He  shrank 
from  the  prospect  of  being  suddenly  deposed,  of  becoming 
himself  the  subject  of  the  kind  of  comment  and  criticism  he 
had  always  bestowed  so  freely,  with  the  smug  satisfaction  of 
feeling  himself  exempt  from  reprisal.  There  were  plenty  of 
people  who  would  be  only  too  glad  to  pounce  upon  him. 
Oh,  no  ;  he  couldn't  stand  that  I 

But  perhaps,  he  could  dissuade  her.  He  saw  she  must 
be  managed  cautiously  ;  it  was  evident  she  had  wrought 
herself  up  to  the  pitch  of  hysterical  enthusiasm.  It  wouldn't 
do  to  oppose  her  openly. 

"  Your  suggestion  does  you  honour,"  he  said,  mildly.  It 
was  desperately  hard  for  him  to  control  himself,  to  take  an 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  353 

indulgent  tone  with  her  ;  he  wished  he  could  snub  her,  as 
he  had  so  often  done,  and  brush  her  aside  as  wholly  incon 
sequential.  "  I'd  be  glad  to  join  you  if  I  thought  it  were 
any  use.  What  we  could  offer  the  Colonel  would  be  merely 
a  drop  in  the  bucket.  It  wouldn't  affect  the  result  one  way 
or  the  other." 

Miss  Twiggs  glanced  at  him  almost  gratefully.  He  was 
not  unimpressionable !  She  had  expected  him  to  scout  her 
proposal;  he  actually  seemed  to  think  it  not  unreason 
able. 

"  You  miss  the  point,"  she  said,  insistently.  It  was  some 
thing  new  for  her  to  be  pertinacious  ;  she  was  conscious  of 
a  certain  enjoyment  of  the  novel  sensation.  "  We  don't 
know  yet  that  our  help  would  be  useless  ;  we  ought  at 
least  to  make  the  effort.  Besides,  you  forget  if  the  Colonel 
has  to  leave  the  Manor,  he  may  be  penniless.  Don't  you 
see  that  even  a  comparatively  small  sum  of  money  might, 
in  that  event,  be  of  great  importance  to  him  ?  It  would  save 
him  from  the  humiliation  of  having  to  apply  to  his  friends." 

Mr.  Plunkett  squirmed.  She  was  forcing  him  from  his 
last  position  ! 

"  He  wouldn't  take  it,"  he  muttered,  desperately. 

"  That's  for  him  to  decide.  He  ought  to  take  it  because, 
after  all,  it's  partly  his.  How  could  we  ever  have  saved  the 
greater  portion  of  it  but  for  his  liberality  ?  No  two  people 
in  all  the  world  have  a  better  right  to  ask  it  of  him.  It 
ought  to  be  easier  for  him  to  accept  it  from  us  than  to 
borrow,  knowing  he  no  longer  has  any  security  to  offer. 
He  has  always  shared  freely  with  us  ;  how  can  he  refuse  us 
the  privilege  of  sharing  with  him  ?  It's  clear  to  you,  now, 
is  it  not  ?  " 

Yes,  it  was  altogether  too  clear.  Mr.  Plunkett  was  con 
scious  of  a  sudden  feeling  of  embarrassment.  If  he  refused, 
she  would  despise  him.  Her  opinions  had  always  been  a 
23 


354  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

matter  of  indifference  to  him,  but  now —  After  all,  the  risk  was 
not  great.  He  was  almost  sure  the  Colonel  would  decline 
such  an  offer.  He  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  take  back 
what  he  had  given — especially  when  it  was  the  little  all  of 
two  dependents.  Miss  Twiggs  was  palpably  bent  on  doing 
the  thing ;  if  he  held  off,  she  was  capable  of  making  a  fuss 
about  it  and  tattling  to  his  discredit. 

"  Have  your  way,"  he  growled,  "  I'm  ready." 

Miss  Twiggs  gave  a  muffled  cry  of  delight.  She  had  ac 
tually  won  1 

"  Oh,  thank  you  so  much  I  "  she  exclaimed,  effusively. 
What  a  victory  for  her !  Glancing  towards  the  other  end  of 
the  hall,  she  saw  the  Colonel  seated  at  a  table,  his  hands 
resting  idly  on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  his  head  bowed  ;  he 
was  apparently  lost  in  thought.  This  was  their  opportu 
nity,  Miss  Twiggs  decided.  She  rose  trembling,  her  heart 
beating  fast. 

"Shall  we  speak  to  him,  now?"  she  asked.  "It  would 
be  better  if  we  went  together." 

"  No ;  you  go  first,"  said  Mr.  Plunkett  roughly,  "  it's 
your  doing  1 " 

It  would  be  some  satisfaction  for  him  to  make  her  bear  the 
brunt  of  the  interview.  Besides,  the  Colonel's  answer  to 
her  would  post  him  as  to  what  he  must  do.  If  he  as 
sented,  there  would  be  no  escape ;  if  he  refused,  he  might 
repeat  Miss  Twiggs's  offer  with  the  pleasant  sense  of  impu 
nity,  and  even  urge  it  upon  him. 

Miss  Twiggs  gazed  at  him  in  dismay  ;  she  dreaded  to  ap 
proach  the  Colonel  alone;  it  would  have  been  so  much 
easier  with  Mr.  Plunkett  as  an  auxiliary.  But  in  spite  of 
his  refusal,  she  did  not  falter.  She  would  dare  anything— 
she  who  had  always  been  so  timid. 

"  Very  well,"  she  quavered,  and  turning  away  from  him, 
she  started  on  her  errand. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  355 

The  Colonel  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  her  rustling  skirts. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Twiggs,"  he  said  kindly,  rising  to  give  her  a 
chair,  "  you  know  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  dropping  unconsciously  into  the  chair, 
and  picking  nervously  at  some  flounces  on  her  dress.  "  I 
wish  to  beg  a  great  favour  of  you." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  he  asked,  considerately.  He  was  think 
ing  sadly,  it  was  no  longer  in  his  power  to  grant  favours. 

Miss  Twiggs  hesitated.  How  would  he  take  it  ?  Would 
he  be  offended  ? 

"  I — I  have  saved  a  little  money,"  she  stammered,  con 
fusedly.  "  Would  you  mind  accepting  it  as — as  a  loan  ?  I 
thought  it  might  be  of  some  help  to  you  in  your  trouble." 

The  Colonel's  eyes  kindled.  This  weak,  helpless  creature 
was  offering  him  her  all ! 

"  My  dear  Miss  Twiggs,"  he  said,  taking  both  her  hands 
in  his  and  pressing  them  warmly,  "  I  always  knew  you  loved 
us ;  if  I  could  have  doubted  your  devotion,  it  would  be 
clear  to  me  now.  I  can't  take  your  money — yet.  It  wouldn't 
help  me,  I  assure  you.  But  after  the  sale,  I  may  need  a 
little — at  first.  If  I  do,  I  promise  to  call  upon  you.  Will 
that  do  ? " 

He  knew  he  was  really  conferring  a  favour,  and  not  a 
small  one,  either,  in  her  eyes.  She  showed  in  her  agitation 
the  sense  of  what  it  must  cost  him  to  consent  to  take  money 
from  her. 

She  rose,  supremely  happy,  yet  anxious  to  get  away.  The 
less  she  said  the  better — a  little  more,  and  she  would  have 
burst  into  tears :  they  understood  each  other ;  that  was 
enough. 

"  It  will  have  to  do,"  she  said  reluctantly,  as  she  turned 
away,  "  but  I  wish  you'd  take  it  now." 

The  Colonel  bowed,  and  made  no  answer.  What 
she  wished  was  out  of  the  question,  of  course ;  he  would 


356  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

never  touch  a  penny  of  her  pittance,  if  he  could  help  it. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  had  given  his  word ;  if  reduced  to 
extremities,  he  would  compel  himself  to  apply  to  her.  It 
would  be  hard,  but  not  so  hard  as  to  solicit  aid  from  others, 
now  that  he  had  no  means  of  repaying.  It  would  make  her 
proud  and  happy — he  could  be  quite  sure  of  that. 

Mr.  Plunkett  was  greatly  provoked  when  he  saw  Miss 
Twiggs  flit  suddenly  away  without  returning  to  tell  him  what 
the  Colonel  had  said.  They  had  spoken  in  lowered  tones, 
and  he  had  been  unable  to  catch  a  single  word.  What  did 
she  mean  by  leaving  him  in  the  lurch  in  this  way  ?  Oh,  of 
course — he  might  have  expected  it — she  had  broken  down 
and  made  a  mess  of  it.  Her  nerve  had  failed  her  at  the  crit 
ical  moment.  Yet,  he  wasn't  sure ;  she  might  have  gone 
through  with  it.  Had  the  Colonel  accepted  or  refused  ? 
Well,  he  must  take  his  chances.  If  Miss  Twiggs  hadn't 
made  the  offer,  she  would  do  it  sooner  or  later.  In  the 
meantime,  he  would  reap  all  the  greater  credit  if  he  were 
the  first  to  broach  the  subject. 

The  Colonel,  who  was  about  to  retire  to  his  bedroom, 
looked  round  in  some  surprise,  as  his  brother-in-law  ap 
proached.  He  saw  at  once  that  Mr.  Plunkett  was  greatly 
disturbed.  He  waited,  wondering  whether  Josias  was  going 
to  reproach  him  ;  he  was  capable  of  it. 

"  A  word  with  you,  Robert,"  he  said,  in  a  quick,  jerky 
tone.  "  Is  it  true  you're  in  danger  of  losing  the  Manor  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  there's  no  doubt  about  it,"  answered  the 
Colonel,  patiently.  Of  course,  Josias,  who  was  frankly  sel 
fish,  was  thinking  only  of  the  discomfort  he  would  have  to 
suffer ;  after  awhile,  no  doubt  he  would  feel  more  or  less 
sympathy  for  the  other  members  of  the  family. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Plunkett,  hesitating  a  moment,  and  with 
a  very  wry  face,  "  I  want  you  to  know  I  shan't  be  an  ex 
pense  to  you  any  longer.  God  knows  what  will  become  of 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  357 

me."  There  was  a  plaintiveness  in  his  voice — it  was  quite 
unconscious — which  confirmed  the  Colonel's  diagnosis. 
"However,  I'll  make  shift  somehow.  And — and  there's  an 
other  thing,  Robert.  I've  got  a  bit  of  money  laid  away;  if 
it's  of  any  real  use  to  you,  it's — it's  yours." 

The  Colonel  gazed  at  him  in  blank  wonder.  His  heart 
smote  him.  How  unjust  he  had  been  !  He  knew  very  well 
what  it  meant  to  his  brother-in-law  to  part  with  his  money. 
He  had  often  seen  him  haggle  over  a  penny,  and  it  was  a 
common  practice  with  him  at  church,  when  the  collection 
was  being  taken  up,  to  insist  upon  change  for  a  quarter. 
He  was,  in  fact,  a  petty  miser  ;  his  offer,  halting  though  it 
was,  seemed  to  the  Colonel  almost  heroic. 

"  You,  too,  Josias  !  "  the  Colonel  exclaimed,  unconscious 
that  he  was  expressing  a  frank  incredulity. 

Mr.  Plunkett  knew,  now,  that  Miss  Twiggs  had  spoken. 
It  was  evident,  however,  that  the  Colonel  had  no  idea  he 
was  acting  at  her  suggestion.  Now  that  he  had  gone  so  far, 
he  felt  better.  A  glow  of  real  feeling  warmed  his  blood. 
He  was  proud  of  having  done  what,  a  little  while  ago,  he 
would  have  considered  a  monstrous  piece  of  folly. 

"  You've  been  very  kind  to  me,"  he  blurted  out  hastily, 
urged  on  by  a  sudden  desire  to  convince  the  Colonel  he  was 
in  earnest.  "  Damn  me  if  I'm  going  to  stand  by  and  see 
you  suffer ! " 

He  was  in  for  it  now,  sure  enough,  if  the  Colonel  should 
accept.  But  no  matter  !  Strange — he  was  becoming  reck 
less.  It  was  such  a  new  experience  for  him  to  be  generous, 
that  he  had  quite  lost  his  head.  He  had  always  feared  he 
might  become  a  spendthrift,  if  he  ever  let  himself  go.  And 
here  he  was,  risking  everything  he  had,  and  finding  an 
almost  delirious  pleasure  in  it ! 

The  Colonel  was  moved  even  more  deeply  than  by  Miss 
Twiggs'  conduct.  Such  conduct  was  natural  to  her,  but  in 


358  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Josias's  case,  it  was  abnormal.  To  Mr.  Plunkett's  astonish 
ment,  he  seized  him  in  his  arms  and  hugged  him.  The  next 
moment,  the  Colonel  was  almost  tempted  to  laugh  at  the 
look  of  relief  which  came  over  his  brother-in-law's  face  when 
he  told  him,  as  he  had  told  Miss  Twiggs,  that  his  money 
could  be  of  no  immediate  use  to  him,  and  he  would  apply  to 
him  only  if  he  were  in  actual  need.  But  Mr.  Plunkett's 
evident  satisfaction  served  also  to  emphasise  the  seriousness 
of  his  proffered  sacrifice.  To  the  Colonel,  at  that  moment, 
there  was  a  whimsical  dignity  about  him,  a  strange  mixture 
of  generosity  and  thrift  which  was  not  ignoble. 

Mr.  Plunkett  said  good-night  with  a  warmth  unusual  to 
him.  He  was  surprised  to  learn  how  much  he  cared  for 
"  Bob."  He  wished  he  could  find  something  to  say  to  com 
fort  him,  but  he  was  an  awkward  hand  at  that  sort  of  thing. 
How  glad  he  was  he  had  yielded  to  Miss  Twiggs  !  Never 
theless,  he  could  not  quite  reconcile  himself  to  the  thought 
that  she  had  vanquished  him.  "  Who'd  ever  have  dreamed," 
he  said  to  himself,  with  a  last  sputter  of  indignation,  "  that 
I'd  have  to  follow  her  lead  ?  "  He  was  compelled  to  admit 
that  she  was  neither  so  weak  nor  so  silly  as  he  had  imagined. 
"  There  must  be  something  in  her,  after  all,"  he  added, 
grudgingly.  "  It's  the  first  time  a  woman  ever  got  the  better 
of  me — but  I  shan't  let  her  know  it.  She'd  be  so  set  up 
that  she'd  want  to  try  her  hand  again;  there's  no  telling 
where  the  thing  would  end.  She  might  take  it  into  her  head 
to  many  me  I  "  He  smiled  sourly  at  the  idea.  Well,  he 
could  baffle  her  there  1  He  wasn't  as  bad  as  that ;  he 
hadn't  quite  lost  his  grip. 

The  Colonel  lingered  for  some  minutes  after  Mr.  Plunkett 
had  left  him,  thinking  of  all  that  had  happened.  What  a  day 
he  had  gone  through  1  At  last,  it  was  over  ;  he  must  think 
of  the  morrow.  He  thought  of  it  calmly,  without  fear,  and 
even  with  a  certain  eagerness — the  eagerness  of  a  naturally 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  359 

courageous  soul  which,  having  passed  through  a  crisis  of 
doubt  and  despondency,  emerges  stronger,  more  self-reliant. 
None  of  those  whom  he  cared  for  most  had  turned  from  him 
or  reproached  him.  They  still  loved  and  trusted  him.  The 
fact,  trifling  in  itself,  that  even  Josias,  a  chronic  fault-finder, 
had  no  word  of  blame,  but  only  sympathy  and  utterly  un 
looked-for  generosity,  stimulated  him  wonderfully.  Well, 
the  old  ease  and  pomp  and  prodigality  were  gone ;  but  on 
the  ruins  of  his  fortunes,  he  might  be  able  to  rear,  with  the 
aid  of  loving  hands,  a  fabric  of  self-respect  and  independ 
ence,  which,  if  modest,  would  at  least  be  solid  and  endur 
ing.  But  a  little  while  ago,  he  had  been  chafing  at  his 
inaction  and  longing  to  go  South.  How  thankful  he  was  he 
had  resisted  the  temptation  1  His  duty  lay  here.  If  God 
willed,  he  would  fulfil  it  loyally,  whatever  happened. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

TURLO  CHESTON  and  Oswald  Reeve  had  succeeded,  with 
out  much  difficulty,  in  making  their  way  to  Richmond,  and 
had  obtained  commissions  as  lieutenants  in  the  same  regi 
ment  in  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia.  Since  then,  they  had 
been  close  comrades,  and  had  seen  hard  service  together. 
Their  command  was  in  camp  at  Fredericksburg  when  a  letter 
reached  Turlo  from  his  father,  telling  him  of  the  confiscation 
of  his  farm  and  of  the  trouble  caused  by  his  uncle's  con 
duct.  The  Colonel,  fearing  some  rashness  on  Turlo's  part, 
bade  him  not  to  think  of  returning.  "  You  could  do  no  good 
here,"  he  wrote,  "and  your  presence  might  cause  further 
trouble  with  your  uncle.  I  would  have  preferred  not  to 
worry  you  with  what  has  happened,  as  it  cannot  be  mended  ; 
but  I  fear  some  incorrect  version  of  the  facts  may  reach  you, 
causing  you  greater  anxiety  and  distress.  I  have  told  you, 
therefore,  what  has  actually  occurred.  But  I  must  insist  that 
you  remain  at  your  post  and  do  your  duty.  I  assure  you, 
you  cannot  help  us." 

The  Colonel  had  framed  his  letter  carefully,  but  the  bare 
recital  of  the  facts  was  enough  to  inflame  Turlo,  naturally 
hot-headed,  to  a  pitch  of  violent  indignation  against  his 
uncle.  The  hound,  to  steal  his  farm  from  him  !  And  to 
take  the  Manor  from  his  father — what  a  scoundrel  he  must 
be  !  Turlo  had  but  one  thought.  It  was  impossible  for  him, 
he  knew,  to  get  the  better  of  his  uncle  except  by  means  of 
physical  force.  He  was  much  too  clever  for  him,  of  course. 
But  he  had  a  stout  pair  of  fists.  He  could  punish  him 
bodily,  and  he  longed  to  do  it.  It  was  even  possible  he  might 

360 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  361 

be  able  to  frighten  him ;  to  compel  him  by  threats  of  vio 
lence  to  desist.  How  he  wished  he  were  at  home!  It 
would  be  something,  at  least,  to  know  what  was  going  on 
from  day  to  day,  and  to  do  all  he  could  to  thwart  and  em 
barrass  his  uncle  at  every  step.  He  was  not  over-modest, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  the  family  needed  him  especially.  No 
one,  he  persuaded  himself,  had  either  the  right  or  the  cour 
age  to  do  what  he  proposed.  It  was  evident  his  father  had 
lost  his  nerve. 

For  several  days,  Turlo  struggled  hard  with  a  growing  de 
sire  to  hasten  home.  He  loved  his  father  and  did  not  wish 
to  disobey  him ;  besides,  he  was  a  Confederate  officer,  on 
active  duty,  and  it  seemed  a  dubious  thing  to  ask  for  leave 
to  enter  the  Union  lines.  His  request  might  expose  him 
to  the  suspicion  of  having  grown  faint-hearted,  of  wishing 
to  exchange  the  security  of  his  home  for  the  dangers  of  the 
battle-field.  He  had  made  a  reputation  for  dash  and 
gallantry,  and  was  boyishly  proud  of  it :  his  heart  was 
really  in  the  Southern  cause.  But  his  curiosity  as  to 
what  was  happening  at  the  Manor,  and  his  longing  to 
have  some  part  in  it,  at  last  broke  down  his  power  of 
resistance.  He  applied  for  leave,  and  was  refused  on  the 
ground  that  an  engagement  was  imminent  and  no  officer 
could  be  spared.  At  first,  he  accepted  the  decision  as  final, 
but  he  soon  grew  restless  again,  and  at  length,  conceived  the 
idea  of  deserting.  It  wouldn't  be  really  deserting,  he  per 
suaded  himself.  He  was  not  serving  from  any  of  the  seced 
ing  States,  but  was  merely  a  volunteer  from  outside.  He 
would  leave  a  letter  explaining  the  reasons  that  called  him 
away,  and  promising  to  return.  If  they  chose  to  shoot  him 
as  a  deserter  when  he  presented  himself  again — well,  they 
might.  He  was  going  home. 

He  confided  his  intention  one  night  to  Oswald  Reeve.  To 
his  great  surprise,  Oswald  offered  to  accompany  him. 


362  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  I'm  sick  of  the  whole  thing,"  Oswald  explained.  "  Be 
tween  you  and  me,  Turlo,  I  don't  care  a  hang  for  the  Con 
federacy.  I  wouldn't  have  come  down  here  if  I  hadn't 
bragged  about  doing  it.  Well,  I've  done  it,  and  I  can  go 
back  with  some  credit.  They'll  never  know  at  home  that 
I  deserted.  I  can  easily  make  up  a  story  about  having  been 
captured." 

He  didn't  tell  Turlo  his  real  motive.  The  fact  was  he, 
too,  had  had  a  letter  from  his  father  who  told  him  of  the  Col 
onel's  plight  and  urged  him  to  return  without  delay.  "  I  can't 
save  the  Manor  for  you,"  he  wrote.  "  At  least,  it  looks 
as  if  I  had  lost  it,  for  good  and  all.  But  now's  your  chance 
to  get  the  girl.  Her  father's  ruined  ;  of  course,  she's  in  low 
spirits,  and  would  turn  to  anyone  who'd  help  the  family  out 
of  their  scrape.  Besides,  you  have  a  claim  upon  her  sympa 
thy  you  never  had  before  ;  you've  fought  for  her  Cause.  It 
would  be  something  to  marry  into  that  family,  after  all.  I  'd 
give  the  money  cheerfully  to  set  up  a  new  establishment. 
It  would  be  even  better  for  me  than  to  own  the  Manor. 
They  couldn't  shove  me  aside  with  any  kind  of  decency, 
knowing  I  was  backing  them  for  a  fresh  start." 

Oswald  thought  the  reasoning  shrewd ;  he  was  as  much  in 
love  with  Lydia  as  ever,  and  eager  to  make  another  trial 
under  new  conditions  distinctly  favourable  to  him.  Perhaps, 
she  had  changed ;  misfortune  might  have  tempered  those 
instincts  which  had  made  her  seem  so  superior,  so  antipa 
thetic  to  him. 

Turlo  suspected  his  sister  was  at  the  bottom  of  Oswald's 
sudden  resolution,  and  good-naturedly  consented.  He  had 
grown  to  be  very  fond  of  Oswald,  and  in  spite  of  his  pre 
judices,  was  even  inclined  to  think  Lydia  might  do  worse. 

They  made  their  escape  from  Fredericksburg  the  following 
night,  and  after  a  series  of  adventures,  succeeded  in  reach 
ing  the  banks  of  the  Potomac.  They  were  about  to  put  off 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  363 

in  a  skiff  for  the  opposite  shore,  when  a  scouting  party  of 
Federal  troops  came  suddenly  upon  them.  Turlo  managed 
to  dodge  them,  and  ran  at  top  speed  up  the  river,  a  hail  of 
bullets  whizzing  past  him.  Pausing  to  take  breath,  he 
looked  round,  and  saw  Oswald  in  the  midst  of  a  uniformed 
group.  He  was  sorry  they  had  caught  him,  but  perhaps,  he 
would  be  able  to  convince  them  that  he  had  abandoned  the 
Confederate  service  and  was  anxious  to  be  reconciled.  The 
best  thing  he  could  do  for  him  would  be  to  get  home  as  soon 
as  he  could,  and  inform  Oswald's  father.  If  anybody  could 
get  him  off,  it  was  old  Reeve ;  he  was  smart  enough  for 
anything. 

A  little  farther  up  the  river,  Turlo  stumbled  upon  an  old 
negro  in  a  canoe  who  made  no  trouble  at  all  about  carrying 
him  across,  and  seemed  to  think  himself  well  rewarded  with 
a  plug  of  Virginia  tobacco.  Turlo's  troubles  did  not  end, 
however,  with  his  arrival  on  Maryland  soil.  The  country 
was  overrun  with  troops,  and  he  was  compelled  to  travel  on 
foot,  at  night,  with  infinite  care  and  precaution.  It  was  un 
safe  even  to  apply  at  houses  for  food,  and  he  often  lay  all 
day  in  swamps  or  thickets,  tortured  by  hunger  and  soaked 
with  rain.  His  sufferings  intensified  his  feeling  against  his 
uncle,  and  finally,  affected  his  brain.  When  at  last,  one 
night,  he  reached  the  Manor,  he  had  become  really  danger 
ous  ;  his  idea,  now,  was  to  kill  his  uncle.  Yes,  that  would 
be  the  easiest,  the  simplest  solution  of  the  matter.  His  uncle 
deserved  to  die  ;  it  was  his  duty  to  kill  him.  He  would  rid 
the  whole  family  of  an  incubus,  and  perhaps,  save  the  Manor. 
Judith  was  a  generous  girl,  although  she  had  treated  him 
shabbily ;  no  doubt,  she  would  make  it  easy  for  his  father  to 
regain  possession.  As  to  himself,  he  was  indifferent ;  the 
thing  that  was  of  real  importance  was  to  deal  effectually  with 
his  uncle.  Even  Judith,  he  persuaded  himself  in  his  mad 
ness,  would  have  reason  to  thank  him.  Any  girl  should  be 


364  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

grateful  for  being  freed  from  such  a  father.  A  lunatic,  with 
the  homicidal  impulse  strong  upon  him,  often  finds  strange 
reasons  to  justify  it  and  even  to  make  it  seem  to  him  humane. 
Rational  enough,  to  all  appearance,  upon  any  other  subject, 
Turlo  was  wholly  irresponsible  when  he  thought  of  Edgar. 
Any  one  might  have  talked  with  him  by  the  hour  without 
discovering  that  his  mind  was  unhinged. 

The  Colonel  happened  to  be  alone  in  the  library  when 
Turlo  tapped  on  the  outer  door.  He  rose  and  opened  it, 
but  drew  back,  shocked,  when  his  son  staggered  across  the 
threshold.  Turlo  presented,  indeed,  a  sorry  spectacle.  His 
clothes  were  in  tatters,  his  face  gaunt  from  famine,  his  black 
eyes  glowing  with  the  fire  of  a  disordered  brain. 

"  Well,  father,"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  unsteady  laugh, 
"  aren't  you  glad  to  see  me?  But,  for  God's  sake,  a  little 
food !  " 

The  Colonel  put  an  arm  about  him  to  support  him,  and 
guided  him  to  a  chair.  Without  a  word,  he  hastened  to  a 
closet,  took  out  a  decanter  of  brandy,  and  poured  out  a  stiff 
dram. 

Turlo  tossed  it  off  with  evident  relish. 

"  The  first  drop  of  good  liquor  in  months,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  But  it's  something  to  eat  I  need  most." 

"  In  a  moment,"  said  the  Colonel,  hastening  away.  There 
was  a  bright  fire  in  the  grate  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and 
Turlo  warmed  himself  luxuriously  before  the  cheering  blaze. 
The  Colonel  soon  returned  with  a  pitcher  of  milk  and  some 
biscuits. 

"  I  didn't  bring  you  anything  else,"  he  explained,  "  be 
cause  I  thought  you  ought  not  to  eat  much  at  first." 

Turlo  crumbled  a  biscuit  in  his  hand,  drank  a  glass  of  milk, 
and  sat  munching  the  bread. 

"  Now  tell  me  what  has  happened,"  he  said. 

"  Nothing   has   happened.       Everything   is  the  same  as 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  365 

when  I  wrote  you.  I  hoped  you'd  obey  me  and  not  come 
back." 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  father.  It  worried  me  so  I  had  to 
come." 

"  I'm  surprised  they  gave  you  leave." 

" They  didn't;  I  left  without  it." 

"  You  deserted !  "  cried  the  Colonel,  horrified.  "  You — 
my  son  I" 

"  There  wasn't  any  other  way,"  said  Turlo,  sullenly. 
"  What's  more,  I  may  be  arrested  as  a  spy." 

The  Colonel  groaned.  His  son  had  dishonoured  himself 
with  the  Confederates,  and  had  rendered  himself  liable  to  even 
greater  ignominy  at  the  hands  of  the  Federal  authorities,  if 
he  were  caught.  How  bitterly  he  repented  having  written  to 
him  I  It  was  a  crushing  load  to  bear  in  addition  to  his  other 
burdens.  But  he  uttered  no  reproaches.  How  could  he,  as 
he  looked  at  Turlo,  half-starved,  wild-eyed,  evidently  ill  ?  He 
must  make  the  best  of  it,  and  seek  to  keep  him  out  of  further 
trouble. 

"  You've  had  a  rough  road  to  travel,  father,"  said  Turlo, 
adding  with  a  touch  of  patronage :  "  But  I'll  make  it  all 
right  soon." 

As  he  spoke,  he  got  up  with  a  kind  of  swagger,  and  with 
out  asking  leave,  helped  himself  to  another  glass  of  brandy. 
The  act  was  unpleasantly  significant  to  the  Colonel.  Turlo's 
manner  towards  him,  even  in  his  most  reckless  moods,  had 
always  been  respectful.  He  winced  at  the  thought  that  his 
son  might  have  reached  the  conclusion  that  he  was  no  longer 
worthy  of  deference  and  had  determined  to  assert  him 
self.  Did -the  foolish  boy  imagine  he  was  competent  to  take 
the  lead,  to  supplant  him  as  the  head  of  the  family  ?  No  ; 
it  was  doubtless  merely  an  unconscious  bit  of  presumption. 
Nevertheless,  it  indicated  a  self-confidence  that  might  be 
dangerous. 


366  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  You  must  be  careful,  Turlo,"  he  said,  "  the  county  is 
full  of  troops.  If  the  news  of  your  presence  here  leaks  out, 
we  shall  have  some  of  them  down  on  us." 

"  Oh,  I'll  lie  close  enough,"  said  Turlo,  "  all  I  ask  is  a 
chance  to  meet  my  uncle." 

"  Your  uncle !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  alarmed.  "  My 
dear  boy,  it  is  he  who  has  caused  all  the  trouble :  it  would 
only  make  things  worse  if  you  .  came  into  contact  with 
him." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Turlo,  with  an  ominous  glance,  "  he 
won't  worry  you  any  more,  when  I  am  through  with  him." 

The  Colonel  thought  he  was  merely  boasting  ;  no  doubt, 
the  brandy  had  gone  to  his  head. 

"  You  must  be  dreadfully  tired,"  he  said,  rising.  "  Come  ; 
we'll  go  to  bed." 

He  lit  a  candle,  and  escorted  Turlo  upstairs. 

"  Don't  leave  the  room  until  Caesar  comes  to  you  in  the 
morning,"  he  urged,  as  he  was  about  to  say  good-night,  "  I'll 
send  him  to  you  in  time  for  breakfast.  We  can  trust  him. 
The  others  are  faithful,  but  they  might  chatter.  Get  a  good 
night's  sleep,  and  we'll  talk  over  matters  at  our  leisure." 

He  left  him,  hoping  fervently  he  would  be  less  heady  and 
more  reasonable  in  the  morning.  Turlo  laughed  grimly  to 
himself.  He  would  promise  anything  to  keep  the  old 
gentleman  quiet,  but  he  knew  what  he  meant  to  do.  Yes, 
he  would  "  lie  close,"  but  only  to  save  himself  from  arrest 
until  he  could  have  it  out  with  his  uncle. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

TURLO  did  not  awake  until  late  next  morning.  He  found 
Caesar  at  his  bedside,  grave  and  attentive. 

"  Well,  old  man,"  he  exclaimed,  with  something  of  the 
same  air  of  patronage  he  had  shown  his  father,  "  you  don't 
look  very  jolly.  Cheer  up  ;  I've  come  home  to  take  things 
in  hand." 

"  Better  stayed  whar  you  wuz,"  grunted  Caesar,  resenting 
his  manner.  It  was  a  liberty  to  take  with  him,  and  he 
didn't  mean  to  put  up  with  it.  The  idea  of  Young  Marse, 
whom  he  had  always  hectored,  trying  to  put  on  airs  with 
him  1  "  Whyn't  you  mind  yo'  Par  ?  " 

"  Oh,  father  isn't  any  match  for  Uncle  Edgar !  " 

"  En'  you  think  you  iz  ?  "  demanded  Caesar.  "  Well,  mind 
how  you  handles  him  ;  he  mought  cut  yo'  fingers." 

"  I  won't  give  him  a  chance,"  said  Turlo,  flinging  out  of 
bed.  "  I  know  what  he  wants,  and  he'll  get  it." 

"  What  you  gwine  ter  do  ? "  asked  Caesar,  suspiciously. 
He  saw  that  Young  Marse  was  ripe  for  mischief. 

"  That's  telling,"  cried  Turlo,  with  a  shrewd  glance.  He 
wasn't  going  to  give  his  game  away. 

Caesar  helped  him  to  dress,  and  then  left  him,  with  a  sage 
shake  of  the  head.  He  meant  to  keep  an  eye  on  him.  He 
didn't  like  the  way  he  talked  and  acted.  Something  was 
wrong  with  Young  Marse — he  had  never  behaved  so  before, 
— but  as  yet,  he  had  no  suspicion  that  he  was  more  than 
"  flighty." 

Turlo  descended  to  the  hall,  and  there,  found  Judith. 
She  had  just  arrived,  and  for  the  moment,  was  alone. 

367 


368  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Judith  was  still  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Manor.  Neither 
her  engagement  to  Basil  nor  Edgar's  conduct  had  affected 
her  relations  to  the  family.  Lydia  was  anxious  to  hide  her 
distress  from  her,  above  all.  She  had  ceased  to  be  intimate 
with  her,  but  she  was  still  cordial  and  even  affectionate,  for 
she  had  brought  herself  to  the  point  of  acquitting  Judith  of 
blame,  and  tried  to  stifle  her  jealousy  by  cultivating  the  ad 
miration  and  liking  for  her  which  she  had  felt  from  the 
first.  As  for  the  other  members  of  the  family,  they  were 
only  drawn  to  Judith  the  more  by  Edgar's  treatment  of  the 
Colonel.  They  were  sure  she  was  distressed  and  mortified, 
and  she  was  clever  enough  to  encourage  this  impression 
without  seeming  to  take  issue  with  her  father. 

Judith  drew  back,  startled,  on  seeing  Turlo.  She  had  not 
heard  of  his  return — only  the  Colonel  and  Caesar  knew  of 
it  as  yet — and  had  dismissed  him  from  her  mind  as  a  factor 
in  her  problem  since  the  day  of  his  departure  for  the  South. 
She  was  unpleasantly  affected  by  his  sudden  appearance  on 
the  scene  because  she  knew  him  to  be  a  rash,  impulsive  boy, 
with  a  grievance  against  Edgar ;  but  at  first,  she  attached  no 
great  importance  to  it. 

"Well,  Cousin  Judith,"  he  exclaimed,  in  an  ordinary  tone, 
but  with  frank  warmth  of  manner,  and  shaking  hands  with 
her  heartily.  "  You  don't  look  as  if  you  had  suffered  much, 
yet  you  must  have  had  a  hard  time." 

She  looked  at  him,  puzzled.  Did  he  mean  to  intimate  that 
she  had  "had  a  hard  time"  because  of  Basil's  absence? 
Yes,  he  was  trying  to  tease  her.  It  was  a  rather  lame  joke, 
but  he  had  that  sort  of  humour.  Well,  if  he  could  refer  so 
lightly  to  her,  engagement,  no  doubt  he  had  been  cured  of 
his  feeling  for.  her.  Very  probably,  he  had  lost  his  heart 
again  to  some  girl  in  the  South.  She  devoutly  hoped  he  had. 
It  would  be  very  embarrassing,  if  he  had  come  back  to  make 
love  to  her. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  369 

"  On  the  contrary,"  she  said,  "  I've  had  a  very  easy 
time." 

"  What ! "  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  flashing  suddenly, 
"  with  a  father  like  yours  ?  " 

The  question  frightened  Judith.  What  did  he  know  about 
her  "  father  "  ?  How  absurd,  she  reflected,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  the  next  moment,  to  fancy  he  cduld  know  anything 
serious  !  Of  course,  he  was  incensed  against  him  for 
having  taken  his  farm  and  for  threatening  to  seize  the  Manor. 
But  it  was  odd  in  him  to  denounce  him  to  her  whom  he  be 
lieved  to  be  Edgar  Cheston's  daughter. 

"  You  shouldn't  say  anything  against  him  to  me,"  she  said 
rebukingly,  feeling  she  should  make  some  protest. 

"  Why  not  ? "  he  demanded,  in  an  argumentative  tone, 
"  He  has  done  you  far  greater  wrong  than  any  one  else." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  gasped,  her  fears  returning. 

"  I  mean  that  he  has  given  you  a  blackened  name,"  he 
answered  hotly,  "  you  must  suffer  because  you  are  his 
daughter.  He's  not  a  gentleman,  though  he  is  a  Cheston. 
Don't  try  to  excuse  him  to  me.  I  know,  from  what  he  has 
done  to  us,  that  he  must  always  have  been  a  heavy  load  for 
you  to  carry.  Poor  girl !  You  wouldn't  admit  it,  of  course, 
but  you'd  be  better  off  if  he  were  dead." 

Judith  recoiled  from  him  in  consternation.  His  words 
were  wild,  but  every  one  of  them  was  true,  though  not  in 
the  sense  he  intended.  Without  knowing  it,  he  had  probed 
her  most  secret  thoughts.  Deep  down  in  her  heart,  un 
acknowledged  to  herself  before,  lay  the  wish  that  Edgar  were 
dead,  and  she  were  free  forever.  It  was  evident  Turlo  had 
no  suspicion  of  her  reasons  for  hating  Edgar,  but  he  had  so 
accurately  defined  her  attitude  towards  him  that  he  terrified 
her.  She  was  struck,  for  the  first  time,  by  his  strange 
excitement.  Had  he  been  drinking  ? 

"  But  you  mustn't  worry,"   continued  Turlo  soothingly, 
24 


370  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

with  a  protecting  wave  of  the  hand ;  "  I'll  soon  settle  him  ! 
That's  what  I  came  home  for." 

"  I  don't  understand "  faltered  Judith,  more  and  more 

alarmed. 

"  I  don't  intend  you  shall — just  yet,"  he  said,  with  a  harsh 
laugh.  "  Not  a  word  to  him !  "  he  added,  with  sudden  fierce 
ness.  A  gleam  of  cunning  passed  swiftly  over  his  face.  "  I 
mean  to  trap  him  1  " 

Judith  caught  her  breath.  She  understood.  He  har 
boured  some  design  against  Edgar.  What  it  was,  she 
could  not  imagine  ;  but  it  was  clearly  hostile.  No ;  he  had 
not  been  drinking.  She  could  see  that  in  his  eyes,  his  gen 
eral  bearing.  His  language,  too,  was  perfectly  coherent. 
He  had  never  seemed  to  her  well-balanced ;  she  had  always 
thought  him  erratic.  No  doubt,  the  wrongs  his  uncle  had 
done  him  and  his  father  had  worked  upon  him  so  that  he 
had  become  more  or  less  crazed.  Yes,  that  would  account 
for  his  sudden  outburst  to  her  against  a  man  supposed  to 
be  her  father.  No  one  in  his  senses  would  have  chosen  her 
for  a  confidant.  But  whatever  its  cause,  his  mental  at 
titude  was  a  serious  menace  to  Edgar. 

What  should  she  do  ?  If  she  kept  silent  and  any  mischief 
happened  to  him,  Edgar  would  be  enraged  against  her  for  not 
having  warned  him ;  in  his  passion,  he  might  strike  at  her 
even  yet  through  Basil.  She  trembled,  too,  at  the  thought 
that  Turlo  might  suddenly  take  it  into  his  head  to  tell  what 
he  knew  about  her.  If  he  were  as  unsettled  as  he  seemed 
to  be,  anything  might  happen.  Yes,  it  were  safer  to  notify 
Edgar  of  his  nephew's  return  and  his  threats  against  him. 
No  doubt,  he  would  be  able  to  take  instant  measures  to  ap 
prehend  him  and  shut  him  up  where  he  could  do  no  harm. 
Perhaps  Turlo  would  gradually  cool  down  and  return  to  his 
normal  condition.  She  did  not  imagine  aught  worse  than 
imprisonment  for  him. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  371 

Instead  of  returning  to  the  Rectory  when  she  left  the 
Manor,  Judith  made  all  haste  to  reach  the  county  town. 
She  had  driven  over  alone  in  a  phaeton  the  Rector  had 
bought  for  her,  so  she  was  not  embarrassed  by  any  witness 
of  her  change  of  route.  It  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon 
when  she  arrived  at  the  old  brick  tavern,  on  the  main  street 
of  the  village,  where  Edgar  had  lodgings. 

The  tavern  was  a  low,  straggling  house  of  red  brick, 
dating  from  pre-Revolutionary  times,  in  a  large  enclosure, 
one  side  of  which  was  occupied  by  a  long  row  of  stables. 
A  spacious  yard,  with  a  few  aged  locusts  whose  rough  trunks 
were  coated  with  whitewash,  separated  the  inn  from  the 
grassy  street.  A  wide  hall  opened,  on  one  side,  into  an  old- 
fashioned  kitchen,  with  the  same  paraphernalia  for  cooking 
as  in  colonial  days,  and  on  the  other,  into  the  dining-room. 
On  the  floor  above  there  was  a  ballroom,  with  a  mirror  at 
each  end  and  panelled  walls,  which  had  been  the  scene  of  gay 
assemblies  during  several  generations.  At  the  side  of  it,  ran 
a  corridor  opening  upon  a  verandah  at  the  back  which  gave 
the  only  means  of  access  to  the  sleeping  rooms.  From  these, 
a  pleasant  view  was  had  of  picturesque  bits  of  the  town,  and 
the  rolling  surface  of  the  country  beyond.  In  the  old  days 
of  stage-coaches,  the  inn,  as  one  of  the  chief  stopping-places 
on  a  main  highway  long  known  as  "  the  King's  Road,"  had 
been  the  scene  of  constant  bustle  and  excitement ;  but  with 
the  change  to  railroads  and  steamboats,  it  had  sunk  into 
even  greater  torpor  than  that  which  had  overtaken  the  ware 
houses  and  shops.  Guests  were  few  and  infrequent.  People 
seldom  remained  longer  than  a  night.  If  they  were  of  any 
consequence,  they  were  sure  to  be  spirited  away  by  some 
hospitable  planter.  It  was  a  duty,  as  well  as  a  privilege,  in 
his  eyes,  to  entertain  a  stranger  who  had  social  claims. 

Edgar  had  taken  three  rooms,  and  had  fitted  them  up  to 
suit  his  fancy.  He  was  alone  when  Judith  arrived,  expecting 


372  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Reeve  with  whom  he  had  made  an  appointment  to  consider 
the  final  details  of  the  transfer  of  the  mortgages.  There 
had  been  some  delay  in  obtaining  his  share  of  the  Magruder 
money,  but  at  last,  he  had  the  amount  in  hand,  and  was 
ready  to  settle  the  affair.  He  rose  quickly  as  Judith  entered. 
He  was  glad  to  see  her.  It  was  lonesome  in  these  old,  mil 
dewed  rooms,  with  not  a  soul  in  the  tavern  whom  he  could 
endure.  He  was  almost  beginning  to  regret  he  had  left  the 
Manor,  even  though  it  would  have  been  more  or  less  awk 
ward  there.  In  spite  of  himself,  he  had  yielded  somewhat 
to  the  infection  of  the  family  life.  There  was  a  cheery  glow 
in  it  which  he  missed.  They  had  really  cared  for  him  ; 
there  was  no  one  who  cared  for  him  now.  Even  his  mother 
had  cut  him  off.  Judith  instantly  brightened  the  scene. 
He  found  himself  wishing  she  were  always  beside  him. 

"  Why,  this  is  really  a  treat "  he  began.  He  stopped 

short  suddenly,  at  a  second  glance  at  her.  She  seemed 
nervous ;  her  face  was  pale  and  drawn.  "  What's  the 
matter?  "  he  demanded  anxiously,  "you  look  as  if  you  had 
seen  a  ghost." 

"  I  have  seen  one — or  something  very  like  it,"  she  answered, 
sinking  into  a  chair.  "  It  has  frightened  me,  a  little.  Did 
you  know  Turlo  had  returned  ?  I  had  begun  to  think  he 
was  dead — or  at  least,  had  passed  out  of  our  lives." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  "  said  Edgar,  with  a  confident  laugh.  "  I 
feared  it  was  something  serious.  I  can  easily  put  a  curb 
upon  him." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  He  seems  to  me  to  be  rather 
formidable.  I  think  his  brain  is  affected.  He  is  set  upon 
doing  you  some  harm." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  Edgar  looked  thoughtful,  but  he  was  not 
alarmed.  He  fancied  he  had  ample  means  of  protecting 
himself.  Turlo  was  a  mere  boy.  It  would  be  easy  to  out 
wit  him. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  373 

"  At  the  Manor.  He  came  last  night.  I  left  him  half  an 
hour  ago,  and  hurried  here  to  tell  you.  Can  you  imagine  ? — 
he  has  the  queer  fancy  that  he  would  do  me  a  favour  by  rid 
ding  me  of  you;  that  I  would  be  better  off  if  you  were 
dead."  She  glanced  at  Edgar,  as  she  spoke,  with  a  dubious 
smile  which  made  him  uncomfortable.  Perhaps,  she  would 
not  be  unwilling  to  accept  his  nephew's  good  offices,  if  she 
dared !  He  could  no  longer  count  upon  her  allegiance 
which  had  once  been  absolute.  But  he  held  her  still  by  the 
bonds  of  her  obvious  interest  in  his  silence.  She  had  come 
to  warn  him ;  evidently,  she  was  afraid  to  round  on  him — 
yet. 

"  I  thought  we  had  made  peace,"  he  muttered,  sullenly. 

"  So  we  have,"  she  said,  carelessly.  "  I  merely  mentioned 
the  fact  because  it  seemed  curious.  Don't  you  think  it  shows 
he  isn't  quite  sane  ?  " 

"  Of  course  ;  he  may  be  mischievous." 

"  He  is  certainly  that.  He  thinks  you  have  treated  his 
father  as  well  as  himself  inhumanly.  I  don't  know  what  he 
intends  doing,  but  it  may  be  something  desperate." 

"  I'll  have  him  taken,  at  once,"  said  Edgar,  hastily.  He 
mused  a  moment,  and  added,  "  He  could  be  arrested  as  a  spy." 

"  You  wouldn't  do  that  1 " 

"  Wouldn't  I  ?  "  he  retorted,  grimly.  "  You  don't  seem  to 
comprehend.  From  what  you  tell  me,  I've  no  doubt  the 
fellow  is  a  madman.  If  he  is  allowed  to  remain  at  large,  he 
might  lie  in  wait  and  pot  me  at  any  moment.  If  he  is  arrested, 
it  must  be  on  a  serious  charge ;  otherwise,  they  might  let  him 
loose  again." 

"  But  they  hang  spies,  do  they  not  ?  "  she  asked,  anxiously. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  replied,  in  an  indifferent  tone.  "  Of 
course,  I  wouldn't  let  it  come  to  that;  after  all,  he's  my 
nephew." 

She  was  not  so  sure  he  wouldn't.     She  believed  him  to  be 


374  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

capable  of  anything — of  murder,  even,  if  his  safety  were 
seriously  threatened.  To  have  Turlo  executed  as  a  spy, 
would  be  a  final  solution  which  he  could  easily  bring  about 
without  compromising  himself.  She  shuddered  at  her 
part  in  the  affair.  Poor  Turlo !  Without  knowing  it,  she  had 
brought  him,  perhaps,  into  mortal  peril.  She  liked  him  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  annoyed  her  at  times.  He  had 
been  loyal  to  her,  although  she  had  not  used  him  well. 
Certainly,  he  did  not  deserve  this  at  her  hands.  She  repent 
ed  having  come.  "  I  wouldn't  have  done  it,"  she  murmured 
to  herself,"  if  I  had  known." 

"  If  you  hear  anything  else,"  said  Edgar,  as  she  rose  to  go, 
"you  won't  fail  to  let  me  know  ? " 

"  I  won't  fail,"  she  answered,  faintly.  She  was  resolved 
not  to  hear.  Edgar  must  shift  for  himself.  If  she  helped 
anybody,  it  would  be  Turlo. 

When  she  had  left  him,  Edgar  looked  at  his  watch.  It 
was  within  ten  minutes  of  the  hour  Reeve  had  named.  He 
began  to  pace  restlessly  up  and  down  the  room.  He  was 
not  afraid  of  Turlo,  but  he  was  disturbed.  The  fool  might 
give  him  trouble.  What  were  his  intentions  ?  Would  he 
remain  at  the  Manor  or  hide  somewhere  else  ?  He  had 
neglected  to  ask  Judith,  but  doubtless,  she  would  have  told 
him,  had  she  known.  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  He 
called  out  "  Come  in,"  thinking  Reeve  was  ahead  of  time ; 
but  it  was  Smyrk,  the  Manor  overseer. 

"  Good-evenin',  Mister  Edgar,"  he  said,  in  a  whining 
voice,  twiddling  his  hat,  which  he  held  in  both  hands.  "  I 
thought  ye  mought  like  ter  know  the  Kurnel's  son  hed  got 
back.  I  seed  him,  unbeknownst,  and  heern  him  talk.  He's 
threatening  bloody  murder  agin  you." 

"  So  I  understand,"  said  Edgar,  shortly.  Smyrk  drew  back, 
crestfallen.  He  had  thought  himself  the  bearer  of  a  sensa 
tional  bit  of  news. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  375 

"  What  I  want  to  know,"  continued  Edgar,  "  is  what  he 
means  to  do — whether  he  will  remain  at  the  Manor  to-night 
or  seek  some  other  cover." 

"  I  didn't  hear  him  say,"  answered  Smyrk,  ruefully. 

"  You  can  find  out,  can't  you  ?  "  asked  Edgar,  with  an  im 
patient  air. 

"  Ef  I  hez  enny  kind  o'  luck,"  replied  Smyrk,  with  a 
cunning  glance.  "  It  all  depends  on  whether  ole  Caesar's 
hangin'  erbout.  Ef  he  sees  me,  I  kain't  git  nigh  Mr.  Turlo. 
He  seems  ter  be  shadderin'  him." 

"  Well,  go  back  and  try.  If  you  succeed,  come  to  me  at 
once  on  the  fastest  horse  in  the  stable." 

"  I'll  do  my  bes',"  said  Smyrk,  and  with  another  drawling 
"  Good-evenin',''  he  slunk  away.  He  had  scarcely  disap 
peared  when  a  heavy  step  sounded  on  the  verandah,  and 
Reeve  came  hurriedly  to  Edgar's  door.  He  was  evidently 
perturbed.  He  scarcely  noticed  Edgar's  curt  greeting,  but 
flung  himself  into  a  chair  and  began  to  mop  his  face  with 
a  red  silk  handkerchief. 

"  I  want  your  help,"  he  said,  abruptly. 

"  My  help  ?  Why,  what's  the  matter,  man  ?  "  asked  Edgar, 
glancing  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  My  son  has  been  arrested  by  Union  troops  in  trying  to 
cross  the  Potomac.  He  is  in  great  danger;  it  seems  he 
entered  the  Union  lines  without  a  pass." 

"  How  did  you  hear  that  ?  "  asked  Edgar,  sharply.  He 
knew  Oswald  had  gone  South  with  Turlo  and  that  they  had 
served  in  the  same  regiment.  His  case  was  suspiciously 
like  Turlo's.  Had  they  come  North  together  ? 

"  Turlo  Cheston  told  me  a  few  minutes  ago.  The  boy's 
off  his  head,  but  his  story  about  Oswald  was  straight  enough. 
Turlo's  afraid  of  being  nabbed  as  a  spy.  My  son  may  have 
rendered  himself  liable  to  the  same  charge,  but,  of  course, 
it's  absurd." 


3/6  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"And  Turlo  came  here,  with  the  town  full  of  troops?" 

"  Oh,  he  sneaked  in  all  right.  He  said  he  couldn't  rest 
until  he  had  told  me  about  Oswald.  God  bless  him  for  it  1 
He's  a  plucky  one — that  boy." 

"  Can  you  lay  hands  on  him  ?  "  demanded  Edgar.  "  I 
must  get  him  into  custody  at  once." 

"You  wouldn't  have  me  do  thatl  "  exclaimed  Reeve,  hor 
rified.  Even  his  accommodating  conscience  was  shocked. 
"  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  had  just  done  me  a  favour — a  very  great 
favour  ?  Besides,  you  can't  move  against  him ;  he's  your 
brother's  son." 

"  That  won't  worry  me,"  said  Edgar  coolly,  "  our  relation 
ship  doesn't  weigh  with  him.  He  is  threatening  me  with 
some  kind  of  violence,  I  don't  know  what.  It's  merely  r 
matter  of  self-preservation.  And  it  would  be  a  kindness  tc 
him  to  lock  him  up  out  of  harm's  way  to  himself  or  others. 
You  say,  yourself,  he  isn't  right  in  his  mind." 

"  He  is  daft  about  you.  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to 
what  he  said,  except  about  Oswald,  but  I  remember  he  was 
bitter  against  you,  and  said  something  about  settling  scores." 

"  You  want  my  influence  to  protect  your  son,  do  you  not  ? " 
asked  Edgar.  "  Well,  help  me  to  capture  this  hot-headed 
boy." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Reeve,  rejoicing  at  his  inability,  "  he  has 
already  left  town ;  by  this  time,  he  is  well  on  his  way  to  the 
Manor." 

"  He  has  gone  back,  then  ?  "  said  Edgar,  disappointed. 
"  I  wonder  if  he  means  to  stay  there  to-night." 

"  He  told  me  he  would,"  answered  Reeve.  "  He  said  he 
was  fagged  out  and  needed  another  night's  rest." 

"  Then,  I  have  him  I  "  cried  Edgar,  eagerly.  "  He'll  be 
a  clever  fellow  to  escape  me  now.  Not  a  word  of  this,  Reeve, 
to  any  one.  Your  son's  safety  depends  upon  holding  your 
tongue." 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  377 

"  /  shan't  blab,"  said  the  lawyer.  He  considered  a 
moment.  Since  he  was  powerless  to  help  Turlo,  he  might  as 
well  ingratiate  himself  with  Edgar.  It  was  all  important  to 
make  sure  of  his  aid  in  behalf  of  Oswald.  "  If  you've  made 
up  your  mind  to  hunt  him  down,"  he  added,  "  you'd  better 
be  ready  to  put  the  screws  on  the  family.  Wouldn't  it  be  well 
to  provide  yourself  with  an  order  for  your  brother's  arrest  ? 
That  might  make  them  give  up  Turlo." 

"  Do  you  imagine  I'm  going  to  the  Manor  ?  "  asked  Edgar, 
in  disgust.  What  did  the  fellow  take  him  for — a  common 
ruffian  ?  "  I'll  leave  that  to  the  provost  marshal." 

"  You'd  make  a  mistake,"  said  Reeve,  decidedly.  "  Turlo's 
not  to  be  easily  caught.  Of  course,  all  the  niggers  there  are 
on  the  watch.  If  you  want  the  thing  done  right,  you'd  better 
do  it  yourself.  If  you  shouldn't  find  him,  you  might  force 
them  to  tell  you  where  he  is  by  threatening  your  brother. 
They  care  a  good  deal  more  for  him  than  for  Turlo." 

Edgar  looked  doubtful  for  a  moment.  Reeve's  reasoning 
was  good,  and  he  couldn't  afford  to  waste  any  chances.  The 
situation  was  really  critical.  From  three  different  sources, 
he  had  heard  that  Turlo  was  violently  inflamed  against  him  ; 
he  was  clearly  dangerous.  Any  negligence,  now,  might 
cost  him  his  life.  But  if  he  accepted  Reeve's  advice,  he 
must  unmask.  After  directing  the  arrest  in  person  at  the 
Manor,  it  would  no  longer  be  possible  to  conceal  his  employ 
ment  by  the  Government.  Public  opinion  would  be  incensed 
against  him.  It  would  see  in  his  conduct  unnatural  malice 
towards  his  brother.  It  would  be  out  of  the  question  for  him 
to  keep  up  the  fiction  of  respectability.  Henceforth,  there 
would  be  war  between  him  and  the  community  at  large. 
Well — let  it  come  !  He  had  no  choice,  if  he  wished  to  make 
sure.  Upon  the  whole,  he  was  glad,  since  it  had  to  be.  He 
had  power,  and  he  would  enjoy  the  free  use  of  it.  His 
authority  as  a  Government  agent  was,  necesssarily,  almost 


378  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

unlimited.  He  could  easily  convert  it  into  a  means  of  op 
pression.  If  he  couldn't  make  himself  respected,  he  could 
make  himself  feared.  There  was  exultation  for  him  in  the 
thought  that  he  could  wipe  out  many  an  old  score.  These 
people  had  passed  sentence  of  outlawry  upon  him  years  ago ; 
he  could  revenge  himself  upon  them  all.  It  was  in  his 
power  to  tame  their  pride  ;  to  bend  the  most  obstinate  to  his 
will ;  to  reach  a  kind  of  eminence  by  treading  them  under 
his  feet 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said  suddenly  to  Reeve.  "  I'll  see  to 
it  myself !  " 

Reeve  left  him  without  the  subject  of  the  mortgages 
having  been  mentioned.  Both  had  forgotten  all  about 
them  in  the  excitement  of  their  interview.  The  lawyer 
was  well  pleased.  His  scruples  about  Turlo  had  utterly 
vanished.  He  would  have  thought  them  idle  in  comparison 
with  the  promise  of  Edgar's  influence  on  behalf  of  his  son. 
He  felt  no  compunction  whatever  about  the  Colonel.  On  the 
contrary,  he  relished  the  thought  of  the  blow  to  his  pride  in 
the  discovery  of  Edgar's  political  depravity,  as  he  would  re 
gard  it.  "  That'll  make  him  bite  the  dust,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  with  a  chuckle,  "  to  find  his  brother  a  Yankee  in 
former  1  "  He  had  also  put  a  spoke  in  Edgar's  wheel. 
"  He'll  do  for  himself  about  here.  Let  him  have  the  Manor  ; 
for  the  first  time  in  its  history,  its  master  will  be  an  object  of 
general  contempt."  That  suggestion  of  his  was  really  a 
clever  stroke.  Edgar  had  used  him  to  his  own  undoing  ;  he 
had  now  contrived  things  so  that  Edgar  would  unconsciously 
minister  to  his  revenge.  He  was  safe,  in  any  event.  And 
both  these  brothers,  each  of  whom,  in  his  own  way,  had 
humiliated  and  baffled  him,  would  be  made  to  suffer  pre 
cisely  what  would  most  hurt  their  vanity,  their  family  pride. 
If  he  had  planned  it,  he  couldn't  have  devised  anything 
better  I 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

V 

EDGAR  had  intended  to  start  for  the  Manor  with  a  detach 
ment  of  troops  at  midnight,  but  as  he  was  about  to  set  out- 
he  was  summoned  to  a  conference  with  the  military  com 
mander  of  the  district  who  had  just  received  important  des 
patches  from  Washington.  Much  to  his  annoyance,  the  in 
terview  lasted  for  nearly  two  hours,  and  his  impatience  was 
heightened  when  at  length  upon  rejoining  the  squad  of 
soldiers,  he  learned  that  Smyrk  had  been  waiting  for  some 
time  with  the  news  that  Turlo  was  still  at  the  Manor  and  had 
retired  for  the  night.  Edgar  at  once  gave  the  order  to  move, 
and  though  the  night  was  dark,  the  little  band  started  off  at  a 
brisk  trot.  The  road  was  a  winding  one,  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  distance,  through  a  dense  wood.  At  some  places,  they 
were  forced  to  check  their  horses  and  pick  their  way  cau 
tiously  over  swampy  spots  or  along  the  precipitous  banks  of  a 
stream. 

Every  member  of  the  party  knew  the  nature  of  their  errand, 
and  as  they  were  residents  of  the  neighbourhood  who  were 
aware  that  Turlo  was  Edgar's  nephew,  they  thought  it  rather 
queer.  Still,  such  things  happened.  Maryland  was  a  border 
state,  and  even  in  the  Tidewater  counties,  there  were  sym 
pathisers  with  both  sides  among  men  who  had  been  close 
friends,  and  not  infrequently,  among  members  of  the  same 
family.  One  of  the  soldiers  had  a  son  in  the  Confederate 
army ;  another  had  been  present  at  the  arrest  of  his  brother, 
but  a  few  days  before,  on  a  charge  of  disloyalty.  Nearly  all 
of  them  had  been  detailed  from  a  company  of  "  home  guards," 
recruited  mainly  from  the  "  poor  white"  class  who  had  es 
poused  the  Union  cause  more  from  envy  of  the  dominant 

379 


380  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

caste,  which  was  almost  solidly  Secessionist,  than  from  any 
special  inclination.  It  seemed  to  them  a  kind  of  social  pre 
ferment  to  be  employed  in  suppressing  people  who  had  al 
ways  ruled  them  ;  for  once  in  their  lives,  they  had  the  upper 
hand.  And  now,  they  were  about  to  discipline  the  biggest 
man  in  the  county.  To  some  of  them,  it  seemed  a  rather 
good  joke. 

It  was  daybreak  when  the  troop  galloped  briskly  down 
the  lane  at  the  Manor.  Dinah,  who  was  already  astir,  hap 
pened  to  see  them  from  one  of  the  kitchen  windows,  shortly 
after  they  had  entered  the  gate.  She  hastily  called  to  Csesar, 
whom  she  heard  moving  about  in  his  room  overhead. 

"  Go  en'  wake  Marse  Turlo,"  she  cried.  "  Git  him  out'n 
de  house  ez  quick  ez  yer  kin.  I'll  try  ter  keep  'em  at  de  front 
do'.  Praise  de  Lawd,  dey  ain't  cotch  him,  yit ;  en'  dey  ain't 
gwine  ter,  nudder,  ef  I  kin  holp  it !  " 

By  Edgar's  orders,  the  soldiers  stationed  themselves  so 
that  they  guarded  every  exit  from  the  house.  When  this  had 
been  done,  Edgar  strode  up  to  the  door  and  knocked  upon 
it  loudly.  There  was  no  response  for  several  minutes ;  but 
at  length,  the  door  flew  open  with  a  bang,  and  Dinah 
appeared,  yawning,  and  rubbing  her  eyes,  as  though  just 
aroused  from  heavy  sleep. 

"  Laws  a  mussy  I  "  she  exclaimed,  staring  blankly  at  the 
soldiers,  "  what  all  dese  people  want  ?  Whatyou  doin'  wid 
'em,  Marse  Edgar  ?  " 

"  Where  is  my  nephew  ?  "  demanded  Edgar. 
"Marse  Turlo?  Go  'long,  Marse  Edgar!"  Dinah 
grinned,  showing  a  double  row  of  shining  white  teeth 
and  added,  with  an  easy,  natural  laugh,  "  You'se  jokin' 
sho'ly.  You  knows,  ez  well  as  I  does,  dat  Marse  Turlo  went 
way  off  hyondah  ter  jine  de  army.  I  ain't  sot  eyes  on  him 
sence." 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Edgar,  sharply.     She  was  lying,    of 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  381 

course ;  no  doubt,  it  was  to  gain  time  for  Turlo.  Evidently, 
his  nephew  had  not  left  the  house.  "  Tell  my  brother  I  wish 
to  see  him." 

"  I  ain't  gwine  none, "said  Dinah,  stoutly.  "  Ole  Marster 
ain't  up  yit,  en'  I  daresn't  break  in  on  his  mawnin*  nap.  He's 
mighty  pertikler  'bout  his  mawnin'  nap — Ole  Marster  iz." 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  then,"  said  Edgar  roughly,  attempt 
ing  to  thrust  her  aside;  "I'll  rout  him  up." 

He  took  it  for  granted  she  would  obey,  but  Dinah,  to  his 
astonishment,  did  not  budge.  Her  enormous  bulk  blocked 
up  the  doorway,  and  she  had  merely  to  oppose  her  inert 
weight  to  bar  Edgar's  passage.  With  her  head  thrown  back 
and  her  tiny  black  eyes  twinkling  angrily,  she  planted  herself 
more  firmly  and  only  rocked  a  little  as  he  gave  her  a  ruder 
shove.  Enraged  by  her  obstinacy,  which  was  causing  him 
to  lose  precious  time,  Edgar  seized  one  of  her  arms  and 
wrenched  it  viciously.  The  pain  exasperated  Dinah.  With 
a  fierce  scream,  she  grabbed  Edgar  and  shook  him  as  though 
he  were  a  mere  toy  in  her  hands.  Strong  man  though  he 
was,  he  could  not  free  himself  from  her  mighty  grip. 

"  I  great  min'  ter  shake  de  breff  out'n  yer,"  she  panted. 
"  De  idee  o'  treatin'  de  ole  ooman  dat  nussed  yer  dat  er 
way  1 " 

Edgar,  gasping  for  breath  already,  called  to  the  nearest 
soldier  for  help,  but  before  the  man  could  reach  him,  the  Col 
onel  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Dinah !  "  he  exclaimed  in  amazement  at  her  outbreak, 
"  what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

Dinah  released  Edgar  instantly  at  the  sound  of 
"  Marster's  "  voice,  but  pushed  him  farther  away  from  the 
door,  which  she  still  guarded  stubbornly. 

"  I  axes  pardon,  MaTse,"  she  said,  breathing  hard.  "  De 
Ole  Boy  got  er  holt  o'  me,  I  reckon.  Hit's  de  fust  time  I 
wuz  took  dat  bad.  I  nebber  laid  finger  on  er  member  o'  de 


382  A  MARYLAND  MANOR ^ 

fam'ly  befo',  but  'deed,  Marse  Eddie's  de  aggerwatinest  man 
I  ebber  seed." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Edgar  ?"  demanded  the  Colonel. 
"  Why  are  these  soldiers  here  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  know,"  said  Edgar,  with  a  sneer.  "  It  is 
said  you  are  harbouring  a  rebjel  spy." 

A  rebel  spy  !  The  Colonel  could  hardly  speak.  It  wasn't 
possible  his  brother  had  gone  over  to  the  Yankees.  "  You 
can't  mean  Turlo,"  he  stammered. 

"  I  mean  no  one  else.  I  hear  he  has  been  making  threats 
against  me.  Well,  I  am  acting  for  the  Government  :  it  is 
my  duty  to  arrest  him  ;  it  saves  me  the  trouble  of  taking 
measures  of  my  own." 

"  Acting  for  the  Government — you !  "  cried  the  Colonel, 
with  a  look  of  horror.  "  I  thought,  all  along,  you  sympathised 
with  us.  To  be  sure,  you  said  very  little  to  encourage  me, 
but  I  took  it  for  granted.  You  can't  be  in  earnest  about 
arresting  my  son — your  nephew." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Edgar,  facing  him 
insolently.  "  Besides,  didn't  you  say  we  were  strangers  ?  I 
don't  know  any  nephew;  I  am  here  to  capture  a  spy." 

"  Why  not  tell  the  truth  ?  "  said  the  Colonel,  indignantly. 
"  You  are  afraid  of  Turlo.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  he  is 
no  spy.  Good  Heavens,  man,  make  an  end  of  it — search 
the  house.  It  sickens  me  to  bandy  words  with  you  1  " 

"  One  moment." 

It  was  Ole  Miss's  voice.  The  whole  household,  with  the 
exception  of  Turlo  and  Caesar,  were  now  assembled  at  the 
door.  Even  the  Colonel's  wife,  though  scarcely  able  to 
stand,  had  struggled  to  the  spot  with  Lydia's  help,  and  with 
her  daughter's  arm  about  her,  was  watching  the  scene  with 
eyes  dilated  with  terror.  She  feared  for  her  husband  as  well 
as  for  her  son.  It  was  more  than  likely  Edgar  would  goad 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  383 

him  into  doing  something  desperate.  The  elements  of  a 
frightful  tragedy  were  here.  . 

Ole  Miss  moved  slowly  towards  the  door,  and  the  Colonel 
and  Dinah  made  way  for  her.  Her  air  was  sad,  but  res 
olute  ;  she  had  never  looked  more  commanding,  more  austere. 

"  This  is  my  house,  as  well  as  Robert's,"  she  said  coldly, 
addressing  Edgar.  "  It  was  once  your  father's.  You  were 
born  here.  Spare  yourself  the  shame  of  entering  it  upon 
such  an  errand.  If  a  search  must  be  made,  let  some  of  your 
followers  make  it." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Edgar  indifferently,  affecting  a  com 
posure  he  was  far  from  feeling.  The  collision  with  his 
mother  from  which  he  had  shrunk  had  come,  and  it  wasn't 
pleasant.  But  he  had  to  brave  it  out,  now.  "  Fletcher,"  he 
added,  turning  to  a  lieutenant  who  nominally  commanded 
the  soldiers,  "  take  two  men,  and  go  through  the  house. 
Bring  any  one  here  you  may  find." 

Fletcher  nodded,  rather  shortly,  in  assent,  and  summoned 
the  two  sentries  nearest  to  him.  He  did  not  look  as  if  he 
relished  the  task.  He  was  a  big,  honest-faced  fellow,  a 
tenant  farmer,  who  had  always  lived  near  the  Manor  and  had 
received  many  kindnesses  from  the  Colonel,  for  whom  he 
cherished  a  rude  affection.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Edgar 
was  "goin'  too  fur,"  but  he  did  not  venture  to  protest. 
Edgar  was  his  official  superior  ;  his  only  choice  was  to  obey. 
He  and  his  companions  passed  into  the  house  amid  pro 
found  silence.  As  they  disappeared  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
Pompey,  who  was  hovering  in  the  background  of  the  family 
group,  signalled,  by  means  of  expressive  winks  and  grimaces, 
to  Dinah.  The  old  woman's  face  brightened. 

"  Cheer  up,  Marster,  en'  Mistus,  en'  Miss  Flor',"  she 
whispered,  passing  rapidly  from  one  to  the  other.  "  Caesar's 
done  it  :  Marse  Turlo's  got  clare  !  " 

Edgar  did  not  notice  her.     He  had  turned  away  to  avoid 


384  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

his  mother's  eyes,  and  was  gazing  fixedly  at  a  moving 
object  at  the  farther  end  of  the  lane.  As  it  drew  nearer,  he 
saw  it  was  a  carriage.  Presently,  he  was  able  to  distinguish 
the  occupants.  They  were  the  Rector  and  Judith. 

"  What  the  devil  does  she  want  here  at  this  hour  ? "  he 
muttered,  anxiously.  "  Has  she  come  to  warn  Turlo  ? " 
He  didn't  like  the  idea  that  she  might  be  capable  of 
such  a  trick.  If  she  had  taken  it  into  her  head  to  play 
him  false  in  this,  she  might  not  stop  there,  but  try  to  do  him 
more  mischief  in  some  sneaking  way. 

Judith  had  not  come  to  warn  Turlo,  though  she  was 
tempted  to  do  it.  It  was  now  a  kind  of  duel  between  him 
and  Edgar  ;  the  latter  was  more  dangerous  than  ever — she 
could  not  afford  to  interfere.  Besides,  Turlo  was  capable  of 
any  rashness  ;  if  she  told  him,  she  might  only  inflame  him 
to  a  more  desperate  pitch.  She  persuaded  herself  Edgar 
would  hardly  go  to  extremes.  He  would  doubtless  be  con 
tent  to  keep  Turlo  in  prison  for  a  time,  and  then,  send 
him  South  again.  Even  he  must  hesitate  to  condemn  his 
nephew  to  death,  if  he  could  avoid  it.  None  the  less,  she 
was  tormented  by  anxiety,  and  at  the  first  glimpse  of  dawn, 
unable  to  sleep,  she  had  risen  and  dressed  herself,  and  then, 
had  hurried  to  the  Rector's  room  to  tell  him  she  was  about 
to  start  for  the  Manor.  The  Rector,  whom  she  had  already 
informed  of  Turlo's  presence  at  the  Manor  and  of  his  threats 
against  Edgar,  understood  and  shared  her  apprehensions. 
She  had  not  told  him  of  her  visit  to  Edgar  or  of  the  latter's 
intention  to  secure  the  arrest  of  his  nephew,  but  he  was 
nevertheless  much  concerned,  and  insisted  on  accompanying 
her. 

Their  surprise  was  great  when  they  drew  up  at  the  door, 
and  found  the  house  hemmed  in  with  soldiers,  and  Edgar 
there.  Judith  had  not  dreamed  he  would  act  so  openly. 
She  sprang  out  of  the  carriage,  and  was  about  to  go  to  him, 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  385 

when  an  exclamation  from  the  Rector  detained  her.  He  had 
turned  at  the  sound  of  another  vehicle  which  had  followed 
close  behind  them,  and  beheld,  to  his  amazement,  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Tippett ;  he  had  believed  her  to  be  still  in  New  York 
whither  she  had  gone,  some  weeks  before,  to  visit  a  friend 
of  her  boarding-school  days — a  Mrs.  Ninian. 

"  Dorothea  !  "  he  cried,  "  what  has  brought  you  back  so 
soon  ? " 

Mrs.  Tippett  did  not  answer  him.  She  was  gazing  hard 
at  Judith. 

"  You  minx  !  "  she  muttered  exultingly,  "  I've  found  you 
out  1  » 

25 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

IT  was  all  very  simple.  Mrs.  Tippett,  who  had  exhausted 
her  ingenuity  to  no  effect  in  trying  to  extract  the  truth  from 
Judith  without  exciting  her  suspicion,  had  accidentally  found 
a  clue  to  her  secret  and  Edgar's  at  Mrs.  Ninian's.  That 
lady's  son,  Mr.  Jasper  Ninian,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  had 
been  one  of  the  special  admirers  of  Miss  Ethel  Vane,  had  a 
choice  collection  of  portraits  of  the  actress  in  a  variety  of 
costumes  and  poses.  One  day,  Mrs.  Ninian  took  Mrs.  Tip 
pett  into  her  son's  rooms  to  show  her  some  Persian  embroid 
eries  on  a  set  of  furniture.  Mrs.  Tippett  inspected  the 
apartments  with  an  eye  that  missed  nothing,  and  finally, 
caught  sight  of  the  pictures  arranged  in  a  frame  on  an  easel. 
She  stopped  short  instantly,  and  lost  interest  in  what  she  had 
come  to  see.  The  likeness  in  all  of  them  fascinated  her. 
They  were  the  living  image  of  her  grandniece,  Judith  ! 

Mrs.  Tippett  was  so  horrified  by  the  scanty  garments  in 
some  of  the  pictures  that  she  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes. 
Was  it  possible  Judith  had  had  the  audacity  to  masquerade 
in  what  Mrs.  Tippett  supposed  to  be  "  fancy  "  costumes  of 
the  most  indecorous  kind  ?  She  had  come  to  believe  that 
Judith  might  be  capable  of  almost  anything,  but  this  was 
beyond  even  her  active  imagination.  She  was  too  prudent 
to  tell  her  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Ninian,  her  suspicions.  That 
would  be  to  give  her  a  choice  morsel  of  gossip  which  might 
seriously  compromise  her  own  good  name.  It  would 
be  insufferable  to  have  such  a  thing  get  abroad  about  a 
member  of  the  family.  As  yet,  Mrs.  Ninian  did  not  associate 
her  grandniece  with  the  pictures.  Mrs.  Tippett  was  quite  at 

386 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  387 

ease  on  this  point,  for  she  had  talked  very  freely  to  her  friend 
of  Judith,  and  if  Mrs.  Ninian  had  known,  she  would  have  been 
bursting  with  eagerness  to  tell  her  all  about  it  and  to  con 
dole  with  her  on  the  family  disgrace.  Mrs.  Ninian  was  a 
dear,  sweet  creature,  but  she  loved  to  say  disagreeable 
things.  Of  course,  Jasper  knew  something,  but  how  much  ? 
If  this  "  person  "  actually  were  Judith,  she  must  have  given 
another  name  to  him.  He  could  never  have  known  her  as 
a  Cheston  ;  his  mother's  silence  was  proof  of  that. 

Mrs.  Tippett  lost  no  time  in  questioning  Jasper. 

"I  am  very  curious  about  them,"  she  said,  after  she  had 
described  the  pictures  to  him.  "  There  is  such  an  extraor 
dinary  resemblance  to  some  one  I  know.  But  of  course,  I 
could  never  have  met  the  original  of  those  pictures.  My — 
my  friend  is  a  young  lady,  of  the  very  best  connections. 
She  would  never  have  dreamed  of  appearing  in  such  clothes. 
I  am  really  shocked  at  you,  Jasper  I  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  you  ever  met  her,"  said  Jasper,  with 
a  snicker — he  was  a  pale,  blond  youth,  with  a  small,  conical 
head,  prematurely  bald  ;  weak  eyes,  an  insipid  smile,  who 
took  only  a  languid  interest  in  life.  He  rather  liked  the 
idea  of  having  shocked  Mrs.  Tippett — she  was  so  ridicu 
lously  prim.  "  It  was  quite  regular,  I  assure  you,"  he  con 
tinued,  in  the  hope  of  shocking  her  still  more,  "  the  usual 
thing,  in  fact,  for  a  man  about  town."  Here,  he  twirled  his 
faint  moustache  negligently,  with  a  self-satisfied  smirk.  "  An 
actress,  you  understand.  Quite  a  beauty,  upon  my  word  1 
She  played  us  all  a  rather  shabby  trick — absconded  sud 
denly  with  her  manager,  a  dashing  old  buck  who  tried  to 
look  young,  and  hasn't  been  heard  of  since.  Some  of  the 
fellows  were  hard  hit.  I  found  it  rather  unpleasant,  myself." 

"  An  actress ! "  cried  Mrs.  Tippett,  perceiving  the  true 
significance  of  the  "  fancy  "  costumes.  "  Dear  Jasper,  look 
at  this." 


388  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

She  produced  a  picture  of  Judith  taken  subsequently  to 
her  appearance  at  the  Rectory,  which  she  had  brought  with 
her  in  the  hope  of  impressing  Mrs.  Ninian  with  her  grand- 
niece's  beauty  and  style.  Mrs.  Ninian  sometimes  ex 
hibited  an  air  of  condescension  to  her  country  friend  which 
was  very  annoying  to  Mrs.  Tippett,  and  the  latter  sought  to 
correct  it  by  intimations  of  a  social  finish  at  home  which 
was  quite  as  choice  as  Mrs.  Ninian's.  Fortunately,  she  had 
not  yet  shown  the  picture  to  her. 

"  Why,  that's  Ethel  I  "  exclaimed  Jasper.  "  Where  did 
you  get  it  ?  I  never  saw  it  before.  Jove  !  What  a  stunning 
creature  she  is  1  The  little  rascal  looks  a  thorough  lady,  too." 

He  was  no  longer  languid,  but  thoroughly  roused  and 
almost  eager. 

"  You  are  sure  it's  the  same  girl  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Tippett 
breathlessly,  "but  it  can't  be." 

"Of  course  I'm  sure — there's  no  mistaking  that  face. 
You've  seen  her  lately  ?  You  know  where  she  is  ? " 

He  was  really  excited  for  the  first  time  in  months,  and  sat 
up  quite  straight,  awaiting  her  answer  with  strong  curi 
osity. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Tippett,  decidedly.  She  thought  she 
might  be  pardoned  the  fib.  The  family  reputation  was  at 
stake.  "  I  haven't  seen  her  for  weeks  ;  I  don't  know  where 
she  is  now.  It's — it's  a  painful  subject,  Jasper.  The  happi 
ness  of  some  of  my  friends  is  involved." 

She  questioned  Jasper  closely  about  the  actress,  and  he 
was  nothing  loth  to  tell  her  all  he  knew,  hoping  to  extract 
some  definite  information  from  her  in  return.  He  had  no 
doubt  whatever,  in  spite  of  her  assertion,  that  Mrs.  Tippett 
could  point  out  Ethel's  whereabouts,  if  she  chose.  For  some 
reason,  she  had  lied  to  him,  but  she  might  let  out  the  truth, 
after  awhile.  It  would  be  a  fine  stroke  for  him  if  he  could 
run  Ethel  and  that  sly  old  fox,  Darcy  Montague,  to  earth. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  389 

What  a  story  he  would  have  to  tell  at  the  clubs  I  But  Mrs. 
Tippett  remained  obdurate,  and  he  finally  gave  it  up  as  a 
bad  job.  He  never  deemed  it  worth  while  to  persevere  in 
any  effort  very  long ;  it  was  too  much  bother. 

Mrs.  Tippett  still  found  it  hard  to  believe  that  Judith  and 
the  actress  were  really  one  and  the  same  person,  but  Jasper 
was  so  positive,  the  resemblance  was  so  extraordinary,  that 
she  decided  it  might  be  advisable  to  make  an  investigation. 
Accordingly,  she  paid  a  visit  to  a  detective  agency,  and  com 
missioned  it  to  look  up  the  actress's  antecedents.  The 
search  consumed  some  time  and  cost  her  a  considerable  sum, 
but  when,  at  length,  she  reached  the  stage  of  identifying  Miss 
Vane's  manager,  Montague,  with  a  man  who  had  once  been 
known  as  Edgar  Cheston,  she  realised  that  her  pains  and 
money  had  not  been  wasted.  She  followed  Edgar  back 
ward,  step  by  step,  to  the  time  of  his  flight  from  the  Manor, 
and  obtained  evidence  to  show  that  Judith  Magruder's  child 
had  died  in  infancy ;  that  the  actress  was  the  daughter  of 
the  Englishman,  Dick  Milbank,  and  that  Edgar  had  adopted 
her  and  educated  her  for  the  stage.  In  foisting  her  upon 
the  Rector,  he  had  been  guilty  of  an  audacious  fraud.  The 
money  he  had  thus  obtained  had,  in  fact,  been  stolen — there 
was  no  other  word  for  it.  And  half  of  it  was  hers ! 

Assured  of  these  facts,  with  the  documents  to  prove  them, 
Mrs.  Tippett  set  out  at  once  for  home.  She  was  anxious  not 
to  lose  a  moment  lest  she  be  too  late  to  prevent  the  precious 
pair  from  making  off  with  their  plunder.  The  journey 
proved  intolerably  long.  The  trains,  the  ferry-boats,  the  spe 
cial  conveyances  which  she  procured  at  a  cost  that  seemed 
to  her  simply  scandalous,  were  all  so  slow.  Nevertheless, 
when  she  reached  the  county  town  about  midnight,  she  tar 
ried  long  enough  to  hold  a  consultation  with  Reeve,  whom 
she  routed  out  of  bed.  It  would  be  necessary  to  employ  a 
lawyer  to  impound  the  money  and  take  other  proceedings 


390  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

against  Edgar  and  the  so-called  Judith,  and  there  was  none 
cleverer  than  Reeve. 

Heaven  seemed  to  open  to  the  lawyer  when  he  heard  her 
news.  His  eyes  snapped  viciously  at  certain  stages  of  her 
recital.  She  had  delivered  Edgar  into  his  hands.  Political 
influence,  however  strong,  would  hardly  avail  to  protect  him 
against  a  criminal  charge.  He  could  not  only  take  the  money 
from  him,  but  land  him  in  the  penitentiary.  Edgar  was 
practically  a  ruined  man  and  would  soon  be  a  convicted 
felon.  How  fortunate  he  hadn't  yet  conveyed  the  mort 
gages  to  him  1 

"  I'll  leave  for  Baltimore  to-morrow,"  he  said,  when  Mrs. 
Tippett  finished  her  story  and  asked  him  what  should  be 
done.  "  I  know  where  the  money  is — in  the  Chesapeake 
Bank.  He  told  me  so  the  other  day.  There  will  be  no 
trouble  in  getting  out  an  attachment  so  that  not  a  penny  of 
it  can  be  drawn  until  your  rights  are  established." 

"  You  think  it  is  really  safe  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Tippett,  anx 
iously.  "  I  run  no  risk  in'telling  what  I  know  ?  I  am  dying 
to  expose  those  creatures." 

"  Make  yourself  perfectly  easy,"  said  Reeve.  "  He  can't 
get  it  away  from  me" 

When  Mrs.  Tippett  reached  the  Rectory,  she  was  informed 
by  the  servants  that  her  brother  and  "  Miss  Judith  "  had 
just  left  for  the  Manor.  She  concluded  that  something  im 
portant  must  have  happened  to  take  them  out  so  early,  and 
at  once  set  off  in  pursuit.  As  her  carriage  drew  up  at 
the  Manor  door  behind  the  Rector's  gig,  and  she  saw  Judith 
and  Edgar,  with  the  family  group  on  the  verandah  in  the 
background,  she  felt  she  had  come  at  an  opportune  moment. 
All  the  parties  to  the  affair  were  here.  She  could  make  her 
disclosure  with  the  fullest  dramatic  effect  and  so  suddenly 
that  Edgar  would  have  no  chance  of  parrying  the  blow. 
She  did  not  stop  to  think  of  the  grief  she  would  cause  the 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  391 

Rector ;  she  was  conscious  only  of  a  virtuous  sense  of  obliga 
tion  to  open  his  eyes.  He  ought  to  thank  her  for  effecting 
his  deliverance  from  a  brace  of  rogues. 

In  her  eagerness,  she  scrambled  out  of  her  carriage  just 
as  the  Rector  alighted  from  his  gig,  and  ran  towards  him 
with  extended  arms. 

"  My  dear  Stephen,"  she  cried,  "  I  have  made  an  amaz 
ing  discovery.  You  and  I  have  both  been  defrauded.  This 
girl " — here  she  shot  a  swift,  contemptuous  glance  at  Judith 
— "  is  not  your  granddaughter,  after  all.  Our  Judith's  child 
died  long  ago.  Edgar  has  imposed  a  protdgee  of  his  own 
upon  us." 

She  spoke  in  a  loud  voice,  so  that  every  one  might  hear. 
The  Rector  stood  transfixed,  gazing  at  her  with  an  air  of 
concern.  It  was  clear  to  him  she  was  out  of  her  head. 
Judith  looked  anxiously  at  Edgar  who  flashed  back  a  warning 
glance.  How  the  devil  had  this  detective  in  petticoats  man 
aged  to  get  on  his  track?  He  cursed  her  heartily,  and 
wished  he  could  gag  her.  But  he  must  hear  what  she  had 
to  say ;  perhaps,  it  might  prove  to  be  only  part  of  the  truth. 
If  there  was  a  gap  or  even  a  flaw  in  her  story,  he  might  win 
yet. 

"  I  found  a  clue  in  New  York,"  continued  Mrs.  Tippett 
rapidly,  addressing  herself  to  the  audience  generally,  as  her 
brother  did  not  seem  to  be  sufficiently  impressed.  "  Following 
it  up,  I  discovered  that  the  girl's  father  was  an  English  actor 
whom  Edgar  met  out  west.  He  took  her,  a  mere  child,  at 
her  father's  death,  and  trained  her  for  the  stage.  She  is 
well  known  as  a  burlesque  actress  in  New  York.  It  was 
easy  for  her  to  play  her  part  here.  I  think  we  will  all  agree 
she  has  played  it  cleverly.  Their  object,  of  course,  was  to 
obtain  the  fortune  bequeathed  to  my  niece's  child.  That's 
safe,  and  the  Manor's  safe.  Reeve  tells  me  the  mortgages — " 

"  Stop !  "  cried   the  Rector,  sternly.     His  usually  placid 


392  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

face  was  working  with  anger.  What  did  Dorothea  mean  by 
spreading  this  shameful  pack  of  falsehoods  before  all  these 
people  ?  She  had  always  been  too  ready  to  believe  evil  of 
any  one  and  to  repeat  it.  He  had  remonstrated  with  her 
gently,  more  than  once,  but  this  was  outrageous.  "  Some 
one  has  imposed  upon  you,  Dorothea,"  he  added,  "  you  carft 
believe  what  you  say." 

He  was  thinking,  very  reluctantly,  that  perhaps,  even 
though  she  did  not  believe  it,  she  might  be  capable  of  ac 
cepting  the  monstrous  story  because  a  fortune  was  at  stake. 
Her  cupidity  had  long  been  a  cause  of  anxiety  and  distress 
to  him. 

"  I  have  proofs  for  all  I've  said,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tippett, 
unabashed.  "  If  you  doubt  me,"  she  added,  pointing  to  Judith 
and  Edgar,  "  ask  them." 

Their  faces  corroborated  her.  Judith  was  white  to  the  lips. 
It  was  all  ended — her  daring  hopes,  her  fond  aspirations, 
her  glowing  vision  of  happiness  as  Basil's  wife.  It  had 
been  but  a  mirage.  He  was  sure  to  know,  now !  As 
for  Edgar,  he  looked  old  and  broken.  For  the  moment, 
his  self-confidence  was  gone.  He  did  not  doubt  Mrs.  Tip- 
pett's  boasts.  She  had  evidently  run  him  down.  The  Manor 
was  lost  to  him  a  second  time.  Curse  the  luck  !  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  there  might  be  a  Providence,  after  all — a  Prov. 
idence  that  was  inexorably  set  against  him.  But  aid  came 
to  Judith  from  the  Rector. 

"  Don't  answer  her,  my  child,"  he  cried,  hurrying  to 
her,  his  face  aglow  with  confidence  and  love.  Pressing 
her  fondly  to  him,  he  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  and 
tenderly  stroked  her  cheek.  "  Why  should  you  answer  so  ab 
surd  a  charge  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  down  into  her  face  with 
perfect  trust  in  his  gaze.  "  It  is  enough  for  me  to  look  at 
you  to  see  my  daughter  as  she  was  at  your  age.  Could  /  be 
deceived  ? " 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  393 

"  But  the  proofs,  Stephen,  the  proofs  !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Tip- 
pett,  dismayed  at  the  turn  the  affair  had  taken. 

"  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  your  proofs,"  retorted  the  Rector, 
vehemently.  "  I  won't  believe  the  story,  I  tell  you.  Nothing 
shall  make  me  accept  it  as  even  possible.  What — have  I 
waited  all  these  years  for  my  grandchild  only  to  be  told,  now 
that  I  have  her,  that  I  have  grown  to  love  her,  that  she  is  a 
wretched  creature  whom  I  ought  to  spurn  ?  Even  if  you 
could  prove  it,  Dorothea,  in  black  and  white,  I  would  not 
consent  to  put  her  from  me.  I  have  grown  to  love  her  for 
herself,  and  nothing  shall  part  us  !  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Stephen,  very  well  1 "  cried  Mrs.  Tippett, 
beside  herself  with  anger  and  disappointment.  "  If  you  will 
persist  in  your  foolish  credulity,  I  have  nothing  more  to 
say." 

"  You  have  already  said  too  much,"  replied  the  Rector, 
still  indignant.  "  Come  with  me,  Judith,"  he  added,  draw 
ing  her  away.  "  We  will  return  to  the  Rectory  where  you  will 
be  safe.  No  one  shall  molest  you  there." 

"  My  brother  is  in  his  dotage,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tippett,  as 
soon  as  the  Rector  was  out  of  hearing.  "  That  girl  has  bam 
boozled  him."  Turning  to  Edgar,  she  added,  "  You  know 
that  every  word  I  have  uttered  is  true." 

Edgar  answered  her  only  with  a  venomous  glance. 

"  You  can  reassure  yourself,  Robert,"  said  Mrs.  Tippett, 
addressing  the  Colonel  with  a  blandly  patronising  air — how 
delightful  it  was  for  her  to  feel,  and  to  make  him  feel,  that  she 
was  his  benefactress  ! — "  The  mortgages  are  safe  with  Reeve. 
If  he  makes  any  trouble,  come  to  me  ;'  I  can  let  you  have  the 
money  at  six  per  cent."  She  was  not  averse  to  doing  a  good 
stroke  of  business. 

The  Manor  was  saved  to  him  !  The  Colonel  could  hardly 
believe  it ;  he  gazed  at  Mrs.  Tippett  with  an  uncertain  look. 
The  spell  of  astonishment  was  also  upon  the  other  members 


394  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

of  the  household.  But  as  Mrs.  Tippett  glanced  about  her, 
with  a  serenely  self-satisfied  air,  as  though  expecting  a  chorus 
of  acknowledgments,  Lydia  sprang  to  her  father's  side  with 
a  cry  of  delight,  and  her  mother  uttered  a  sob  of  joy,  quali 
fied  by  a  lingering  fear  of  Edgar.  Were  they  really  delivered 
from  him  at  last  ? 

The  Colonel  glanced  at  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  uttered, 
in  a  low  voice,  a  heartfelt  "  Thank  God  1 " 

Edgar  heard  him,  and  his  head  swam.  For  a  moment, 
everything  was  black  to  his  eyes.  Was  he  to  be  cheated  of 
his  vengeance  too  ?  He  had  the  money  safe  in  bank,  and  it 
would  go  far  to  compensate  him  for  the  failure  of  his  designs 
upon  the  Manor,  but  this  pair  whom  he  had  meant  to  torment 
had  escaped  him,  and  would  yet  be  happy.  Not  quite  yet ; 
there  was  Turlo ;  besides,  he  could  hale  his  brother  off  to 
prison.  That  would  sober  them.  He  would  keep  this  stroke 
for  the  last;  in  the  meantime,  if  Fletcher  failed  to  find 
Turlo,  the  threat  of  his  brother's  arrest,  as  Reeve  had  sug 
gested,  might  enable  him  to  extort  the  secret  from  them. 
Perhaps,  Lydia  would  tell,  to  save  her  father.  She  might 
very  well  assume  her  brother  would  wish  her  to  do  so.  Or 
one  of  the  negroes  would  surely  weaken.  He  knew  the 
absurd  devotion  of  Dinah  and  Pompey  to  "  Ole  Marse,"  and 
Phyllis  was  a  treacherous  creature.  He  was  revolving  these 
thoughts  in  his  mind  when  Fletcher  appeared  with  the  an 
nouncement  that  a  thorough  search  of  the  house  had  been 
made,  and  Turlo  was  not  to  be  found.  Edgar  glanced  at  the 
family  group  with  a  malicious  smile. 

"  Well,  we  can  take  a  substitute,"  he  said.  "  You  have  a 
warrant  for  my  brother's  arrest,  Fletcher.  Unless  some  one 
tells  us  where  Turlo  is,  he'll  have  to  go  with  us." 


CHAPTER  XL 

IT  was  a  thunderbolt  for  everybody  except  the  Colonel. 
He  had  been  surprised,  and  in  fact,  a  trifle  disappointed  at 
not  having  been  called  to  account  before.  It  was  humiliating 
to  be  overlooked  when  Secessionists  all  about  him  were  being 
arrested.  It  really  seemed  as  if  the  Government  meant  to 
ignore  him.  Had  its  agents  satisfied  themselves  that  he 
was  merely  a  loud-talking,  vainglorious  fellow,  without  real 
influence  or  power  ?  His  friends,  too,  might  well  wonder 
at  his  strange  exemption.  People  might  even  suspect  him  of 
having  made  his  peace  with  the  Federal  authorities.  He  had 
no  means  of  knowing  that  he  had  been  shielded  by  his  brother 
for  purposes  of  his  own.  Edgar's  announcement  was,  in  one 
sense,  welcome  to  him.  It  satisfied  him  he  had  not  been 
overlooked,  after  all ;  his  apprehension  had  only  been  de 
layed. 

The  effect  on  the  family,  of  course,  was  very  different. 
The  Colonel's  wife  fell,  half-fainting,  into  his  arms.  Ole 
Miss's  eyes  flashed  angrily,  but  she  choked  down  a  sob. 
She  could  not  bring  herself  to  speak  to  Edgar,  to  utter  a 
word  of  protest.  If  he  were  capable  of  even  proposing 
such  an  outrage  in  her  presence,  he  was  dead  to  any  appeal 
from  her.  Grief  showed  in  every  face,  but  to  Edgar' s 
disappointment,  Lydia  was  dumb,  and  none  of  the  negroes 
gave  any  sign  of  yielding,  though  Pompey  was  sorely 
tempted.  He  plucked  Dinah  by  the  sleeve  and  whispered, 
"  Hit  mought  save  Ole  Marse  ef  I  tole  I  seen  Marse  Turlo 
makin'  fur  de  cove,  en'  dey  can't  ketch  him,  now." 

"  You  breathe  a  word  o'  dat,"  muttered  Dinah  fiercelv, 
395 


396  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  en'  I'll  stomp  you  in  de  dirt  1  Marster  ain't  in  enny  great 
danger,  en'  Marse  Turlo  iz.  Caesar  tole  me  dey  mought 
hang  him  fur  a  spy.  You  keep  yo'  mouf  shet.  You  wuz 
allers  too  free  wid  yo'  tongue." 

The  Colonel  found  it  hard  to  disengage  himself  from  his 
wife,  who  clung  to  him  with  the  tenacity  of  despair.  At 
length,  unclasping  her  hands,  he  surrendered  her  scarce 
conscious  to  Lydia. 

"  Take  good  care  of  her,  little  girl,"  he  whispered. 

"  I  will  try,  Papa,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  bravely, 
through  a  mist  of  tears. 

The  Colonel  turned  to  his  mother.  For  his  sake,  Ole  Miss 
controlled  her  grief  by  a  great  effort,  and  said  firmly, 

"  God  be  with  you,  my  son  I  " 

Miss  Twiggs  and  Mr.  Plunkett  came  forward  to  take  leave 
of  him,  and  then,  the  Colonel  shook  hands  with  each  of 
the  servants. 

"  I  am  ready,  Fletcher,"  he  said,  almost  cheerfully.  He 
did  not  seem  to  see  his  brother.  Fletcher  was  about  to  offer 
him  his  horse,  but  before  he  could  speak,  a  figure  in  a 
captain's  uniform,  suddenly  detaching  itself  from  a  group  of 
soldiers,  strode  towards  him  across  the  lawn.  There  was  a 
general  cry  of  surprise.  It  was  Basil  Kent. 

Basil  had  come  home,  invalided  from  a  serious  wound. 
On  his  way,  he  had  met  Lawyer  Reeve,  shortly  after  the 
latter's  interview  with  Mrs.  Tippett.  Reeve,  who  no  longer 
had  the  fear  of  Edgar  before  his  eyes,  told  him  of  the  latter's 
departure  for  the  Manor  with  a  party  of  troops.  Basil  did 
not  wait  to  hear  more,  but  started  at  once  for  the  scene. 
The  blow,  he  made  sure,  was  aimed  at  the  Colonel  ;  it  was 
in  his  power  to  protect  him.  While  in  Washington,  arrang 
ing  his  affairs  at  the  War  Department,  he  had  learned,  to  his 
great  surprise,  that  no  charges  had  as  yet  been  preferred 
against  the  Colonel,  although  many  arrests  had  been  made 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  397 

in  his  county.  Concluding  that  so  active  a  Secessionist 
would  get  into  trouble  sooner  or  later,  he  thought  it  would 
be  well  to  apply  for  an  order  to  the  military  commander  at 
home  not  to  molest  the  Colonel  without  specific  directions 
from  the  Department.  He  had  reason  to  hope  his  petition 
would  be  granted,  inasmuch  as  he  had  distinguished  himself 
in  action  and  had  been  recommended  for  promotion.  The 
Department  officials  were,  in  fact,  relieved  on  finding  he  asked 
nothing  for  himself,  and  seemed  content  with  so  small  a  favour. 
They  were  beset  with  men  clamouring  for  "  recognition," 
and  it  was  hard  to  find  places  enough  to  go  round.  Besides, 
the  Colonel  was  not  officially  known  to  be  disloyal.  The 
only  condition  attached  to  the  order  was  that  Basil  should 
hold  himself  responsible  for  the  Colonel's  good  behaviour. 
How  thankful  he  was  that  he  had  obtained  it ! 

Basil  had  galloped  down  the  lane  unobserved  in  the  gen 
eral  excitement,  and  had  sprung  off  his  sweating  horse  just  as 
the  Colonel  turned  to  accompany  Fletcher.  He  understood 
at  once  the  meaning  of  the  scene.  The  Colonel  was  about  to 
be  carried  off. 

"  Ah,  Colonel,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  hurried  forward,  "  I 
am  just  in  time  1  " 

"  To  escort  me  to  prison  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel,  with  a 
touch  of  bitterness.  Did  not  Basil  wear  a  "  Yankee " 
uniform  ? 

Basil  drew  back,  hurt. 

"  How  can  you  think  that  of  me  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  look 
of  distress.  "  I  came  to  save  you  from  annoyance."  As 
he  spoke,  he  drew  the  precious  order  from  his  breast-pocket, 
and  handed  it  to  Fletcher.  "  I  got  that  in  Washington,"  he 
explained  to  the  Colonel,  "  I  thought  you  might  need  it.  It 
protects  you  from  arrest  except  upon  express  authority  from 
the  War  Department." 

"  That  was  kind   of  you,  my   boy !  "  said   the   Colonel, 


398  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

seizing  both  his  hands.     "  Forgive  me  for  having   doubted 
you,  but  when  my  own  brother " 

"You  are  free,  Colonel,"  interrupted  Fletcher,  his  face 
lighting  up.  It  wasn't  necessary  to  consult  Edgar,  and  he 
wasn't  inclined  to  show  him  any  particular  deference,  now 
that  he  could  act  independently  of  him. 

"  I  knew  he  had  come  to  help  us  !  "  exclaimed  Lydia,  in 
a  low,  glad  voice.  Now  that  Basil  was  there,  all  would  be 
well.  The  old  feeling  of  trust  in  the  strong,  self-reliant 
companion  of  her  childhood  inspired  her  with  confidence  in 
his  ability  to  settle  everything.  He  was  still  the  same  Basil 
— so  thoughtful,  so  kind,  so  sure  to  do  the  right  thing. 

Moved  by  an  impulse  which  conquered  her  shyness,  she 
yielded  her  place  at  her  mother's  side  to  Miss  Twiggs,  and 
hurried  down  the  gravel  path  to  greet  him.  Feeling  the 
touch  of  a  hand  on  one  of  his  own,  Basil  turned  hastily  and 
met  the  speaking  gaze  of  eyes  which  had  never  seemed  to 
him  so  soft,  so  tender. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,  Basil  1  "  she  murmured. 

Ah,  the  sound  of  that  voice  !  The  light  in  those  eyes  ! 
Basil  thought  of  Judith  and  of  Oswald,  and  turned  sadly  away. 
How  foolish  to  imagine  that  Lydia  might,  perhaps,  be  moved 
by  a  feeling  warmer  than  gratitude  for  what  he  had  done  for 
her  father !  And  even  if  the  unwonted  softness  of  her  glances, 
the  sweetness  of  her  voice  did  mean  something  else — as,  of 
course,  they  could  not — what  would  it  avail  him  ?  His  faith 
was  pledged  to  Judith,  and  Lydia,  he  was  almost  sure,  had 
promised  herself  to  Oswald. 

"  There  is  little  to  thank  me  for,"  he  said,  controlling 
himself,  and  as  it  seemed  to  her,  almost  coldly,  "  I  am  glad 
to  be  of  use  to  your  father." 

Lydia  dropped  his  hand,  and  drew  away  from  him  with 
face  overcast.  She  was  ashamed  of  her  impetuousness  which, 
it  seemed  to  her,  had  met  with  a  rebuff.  And  how  could 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  399 

she  have  expected  that  Basil  would  be  otherwise  than  in 
different  ?  She  was  nothing  to  him. 

Edgar  made  no  effort  to  resist  Basil.  In  fact,  he  was 
rather  glad  he  had  taken  his  brother  off  his  hands.  His 
attempt  to  use  the  arrest  as  a  means  of  extorting  the  betrayal 
of  Turlo's  hiding  place  had  failed,  and  "  Bob "  seemed 
rather  to  like  the  idea  of  going  to  prison.  He  had  no 
taste  for  unprofitable  villainy.  If  he  could  only  put  his 
hands  upon  Turlo  !  Once  he  had  him  safe,  he  would 
hurry  off  to  draw  the  Magruder  money  out  of  bank 
before  that  cunning  fox,  Mrs.  Tippett,  got  scent  of  it.  And 
then  away  again,  far  off,  to  spend  it  and  drown  the  memory 
of  all  he  had  lost.  Perhaps,  now  that  Judith's  identity  was 
exposed  and  the  means  of  respectable  livelihood  was  about 
to  be  withdrawn  from  her,  as  Mrs.  Tippett  would  take  care 
it  should  be,  she  might  consent  to  share  his  fortunes  again. 
The  Rector  could  not  hold  out  in  the  face  of  facts  which 
were  not  to  be  controverted,  and  Judith's  marriage  to  Basil 
Kent  was  out  of  the  question.  The  fellow  was  a  prig, 
and  would  drop  her  instantly.  She  would  soon  be  without 
resources.  The  need  of  money  was  a  wonderful  chastener, 
and  reconciled  the  most  obstinate  to  harsh  conditions.  If 
he  could  persuade  her,  he  might  find  life  still  interesting, 
after  all.  In  her  despair,  she  might  even  turn  gratefully  to 
him. 

He  was  about  to  order  out  scouting  parties  in  pursuit  of 
Turlo  when  he  caught  sight  of  Smyrk  beckoning  excitedly  from 
behind  a  corner  of  the  graveyard  wall.  He  hurried  to  him, 
feeling  sure  he  had  discovered  something,  and  Smyrk,  with 
a  nervous  grasp  on  his  shoulder,  drew  him  into  the  shelter 
of  a  large  arbor-vitae  which  hid  them  from  view.  Smyrk  was 
desperately  anxious  to  conceal  his  agency  in  the  affair  from 
the  eyes  of  any  member  of  the  Manor  household,  especially 
Caesar,  who  had  been  watching  him  of  late  with  disquieting 


400  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

persistence.  It  wouldn't  do  to  get  the  Colonel  "  down  "  on 
him,  and  Mr.  Turlo,  should  he  escape  his  uncle,  would  make 
it  hot  for  him,  if  he  discovered  his  treachery. 

"  I  bin  tryin'  ter  git  nigh  you  fur  five  er  ten  minutes," 
mumbled  Smyrk,  with  an  eager  note  in  his  voice,  "  but  I 
was  feerd  summun  ud  see  me,  en'  drap  on  my  game.  I 
caught  sight  o'  Mr.  Turlo  en'  Caesar  a  steerin'  fur  the  cove, 
en'  follered  'em.  Caesar's  gone  ter  git  a  boat  ter  kerry  Mr. 
Turlo  off.  He's  waitin'  fur  Caesar  on  the  hill  by  the  wharf." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Edgar,  with  fire  in  his  eyes.  He  knew, 
now,  what  to  do.  Turning  abruptly  from  Smyrk,  who  stole 
off  under  cover  of  a  hedge,  he  hurried  back  to  the  front  of 
the  house. 

"  How  about  Turlo  ?  "  he  called  out,  in  a  grating  voice  to 
Basil,  >'  have  you  a  document  securing  protection  to  him  ?  " 

Basil  glanced  at  Edgar  in  surprise.  He  thought  Turlo 
was  still  somewhere  in  the  South.  Was  it  possible  he  had 
been  so  foolhardy  as  to  return  to  the  Manor  ? 

"  No,"  he  answered  reluctantly,  "  I  haven't." 

"  Then,  Fletcher,"  said  Edgar,  in  a  fierce  tone  of  tri 
umph,  "  I  think  we'll  continue  the  search.  I  know  which 
way  he  went." 

He  was  not  sure  that  Turlo  was  still  at  the  place  where 
Smyrk  had  seen  him.  He  might,  by  this  time,  have  got 
away  in  the  boat  or  be  lurking  somewhere  in  the  garden. 
He  determined  to  beat  the  garden  thoroughly,  and  broke  up 
Fletcher's  party  into  twos  and  threes,  with  instructions 
to  proceed  in  different  directions  so  that,  after  making 
a  search  of  every  path  and  alley,  they  would  converge 
at  the  hill  near  the  wharf.  Accompanied  by  a  single  trooper, 
Edgar  took  the  straightest  course  to  the  spot.  He  was 
anxious  to  ascertain  as  soon  as  possible  whether  his 
nephew  was  there.  On  the  way,  he  ordered  the  soldier 
with  him  to  prod  the  great  box  trees  which  lined  their  path. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  401 

"  He  might  easily  lie  hid  in  one  of  them,"  he  said.  The 
man  obeyed  rather  carelessly — it  seemed  to  him  a  cruel 
job — and  was  slow  about  it.  Edgar  hurried  on,  and 
had  soon  left  his  companion  some  distance  behind. 

Turlo,  hidden  behind  one  of  the  great  oaks  on  the  summit 
of  the  knoll,  but  on  the  watch,  saw  him  coming.  Caesar  had 
been  delayed  in  obtaining  a  boat,  but  at  last,  had  found  one 
some  distance  down  the  cove  and  was  paddling  swiftly  towards 
him.  Turlo  hesitated.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  run  down 
the  bank,  plunge  into  the  water,  and  swim  out  to  Caesar,  who 
was  now  but  a  short  way  off.  It  would  be  easy  for  him  to 
escape.  He  glanced  again  at  Edgar,  and  noticed  that  he  was 
alone.  Here  and  there,  in  the  distance,  the  soldiers  were 
traversing  the  garden.  Why  should  he  seek  to  avoid  him  ? 
Wasn't  this  the  very  opportunity  for  which  he  had  longed  ? 
He  was  not  afraid  of  him  ;  his  only  fear  had  been  of  capture 
and  the  frustration  of  his  passionate  desire  to  grapple  with 
him  single  handed.  He  decided  to  wait :  it  might  be  his 
only  chance. 

Edgar  came  quickly  up  the  hill.  When  he  was  some  ten 
paces  from  him,  Turlo  stepped  out  from  behind  the  tree. 
His  manner  was  quiet,  though  his  brain  was  seething.  He 
longed  to  rush  upon  his  uncle  :  the  murderous  mania  flamed 
up  fiercely ;  but  he  controlled  himself.  He  must  make  sure. 
He  had  no  weapon :  he  must  use  stratagem  or  take  the  risk 
of  being  shot.  What  joy  to  outwit  his  clever  uncle ;  to  trap 
him,  like  a  crafty  beast ! 

"  Hands  up !  "  cried  Edgar,  covering  him  with  a  revolver. 

Turlo  promptly  raised  his  hands. 

"  I  surrender,  Uncle,"  he  said,  submissively,  "  you've  been 
too  clever  for  me ;  I  am  unarmed." 

"  Well,  come  with  me,"  said   Edgar,  rejoicing  at  the    ease 
with  which  he  had    effected  the  capture.     His   nephew  was 
chicken-hearted,  after  all. 
26 


402  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Turlo  advanced  towards  him,  still  holding  up  his  hands. 
Edgar  grasped  him  by  the  shoulder.  Turlo  seemed  to  shrink 
at  his  touch,  and  Edgar,  completely  reassured,  lowered  the 
revolver  slightly.  Turlo  had  counted  on  some  such  impru 
dence.  Quick  as  a  flash,  he  seized  the  hand  that  held  the 
pistol  and  twisted  it  sharply,  causing  the  weapon  to  fall  to 
the  ground.  The  next  moment,  he  had  pinioned  his  uncle 
in  his  arms. 

"  You're  my  prisoner  now !  "  he  cried,  with  savage  joy. 
He  had  him — at  last. 

For  a  moment,  Edgar  could  not  realise  what  had  happened. 
Was  the  fool  in  earnest,  with  soldiers  close  at  hand  ? 
But  were  they  close  ?  No ;  there  was  but  one  of  them 
who  had  followed  him,  and  curse  him,  he  had  loitered 
behind.  With  a  desperate  effort,  he  sought  to  wrench 
himself  free,  but  Turlo  held  him  fast.  If  he  could  but 
recover  the  pistol !  He  stooped  suddenly,  and  carrying 
Turlo  down  with  him,  fell  heavily.  For  a  moment,  Turlo 
was  shaken  off,  but  immediately  regained  his  hold.  It 
was  not  so  easy,  however,  to  master  his  uncle.  He  had 
the  advantage  of  youth,  but  he  was  weakened  by  privation  ; 
Edgar  was  still  a  powerful  man,  and  terror  lent  him  addi 
tional  strength.  He  was  well  aware  of  his  peril,  now.  His 
nephew  was  a  madman  ;  he  had  tricked  him  with  a  madman's 
cunning ;  he  meant  to  kill  him.  There  was  but  one  alter 
native  :  he  must  either  get  the  pistol  and  kill  him,  or  else, 
baffle  him  until  the  soldiers  could  come  to  his  aid.  Turlo 
sought  to  overpower  him  with  his  greater  weight;  to 
his  surprise,  his  uncle  proved  to  be  as  agile  as  a  cat,  and 
succeeded  in  writhing  from  under  him  again  and  again. 
They  rolled  over  and  over  on  the  ground  like  furious  brutes. 
Turlo  began  to  be  anxious  ;  he  was  losing  time ;  at  any 
moment,  the  soldiers  might  appear. 

Edgar's  eyes  always  sought  the  pistol.     Inch  by  inch,  he 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  403 

won  nearer  to  it.  At  last,  his  heart  gave  a  joyous  bound. 
It  was  within  his  grasp.  Putting  forth  all  his  strength, 
he  struggled  to  his  knees,  and  reached  for  the  prize.  But 
Turlo  was  quicker  than  he.  As  Edgar's  hand  closed  upon 
the  pistol,  he  stamped  upon  it,  breaking  the  arm  at  the  wrist. 
With  a  cry  of  anguish,  Edgar  sank  back,  and  Turlo  seizing 
him,  dragged  him  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff. 

"  It's  no  use,  Uncle  !  "  he  cried  hoarsely — he  was  nearly 
spent — "  7  don't  want  the  pistol — shooting  is  too  good  for 
you  :  I'm  going  to  drown  you  like  a  rat  1  " 

Edgar  glanced  about  him  wildly,  with  foam  on  his  lips. 
His  blood  turned  cold  as  he  looked  down  at  the  black,  miry 
depths  of  the  cove.  He  remembered  having  seen  the  ghastly 
face  of  a  man  who  had  been  smothered  in  that  dreadful  ooze. 
What  a  horrible  death  to  die — here,  within  reach  of  aid ! 
He  had  called  again  and  again  to  the  soldiers,  and  had  heard 
their  answering  shouts.  Why  were  they  not  here  ?  They 
musfbe  in  time.  He  was  helpless,  now,  in  this  young  giant's 
hands.  Another  moment,  perhaps,  and  then — 

Had  it  actually  come  to  this — his  plotting  and  scheming, 
his  cleverness,  his  boasted  strength  ?  Was  Death  really 
there — at  his  feet  ?  No,  it  couldn't  be. — In  a  flash,  he  saw 
the  whole  procession  of  his  lusts,  unsatisfied.  He  had  so 
much  to  live  for,  so  much  to  enjoy,  in  spite  of  all.  Never, 
even  in  his  buoyant  youth,  had  he  known  so  vigorous  a  pulse 
of  life  in  his  veins.  It  was  incredible  that  he  should  be 
menaced,  thus,  at  the  climax  of  his  powers,  in  the  full  tide  of 
his  disciplined  energies,  by  a  silly  boy  whom  he  had  thought 
to  crush  with  scarcely  an  effort.  What  a  damned  imperti 
nence  of  fate  !  If  he  could  but  hold  out  a  little  longer.  God, 
the  fellow  was  throttling  him  !  Ah,  there  was  some  one  run 
ning  ;  he  could  hear  the  rapid  patter  of  feet  on  dry  leaves  ; 
he  was  saved ! 

Turlo,   also,   heard.     Glancing  round,   he  saw   the  sol- 


404  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

dier  who  had  set  out  with  Edgar,  dashing  up  the  slope. 
"  Too  late,  Uncle  1 "  he  said,  with  a  biting  laugh.  "  What — 
you  won't  let  go  ?  "  he  added,  furiously,  as  Edgar  clasped  his 
uninjured  arm  tightly  about  his  neck,  and  clung  to  him 
desperately  in  the  hope  of  saving  himself  from  being  thrown 
over  the  bluff.  Turlo  dared  not  relax  his  hold  to  stun  him 
with  a  blow.  He  felt  his  strength  was  ebbing  fast.  There 
was  but  one  thing  to  do ;  he  must  jump  in  with  him.  He 
might  be  drowned,  but  his  uncle  would  not  escape  him.  "  I 
meant  to  send  you  to  hell,"  he  panted,  taking  a  firmer  grip 
of  him,  "  we'll  go  together !  " 

Edgar  struck  wildly  at  him  with  his  maimed  hand,  shriek 
ing  a  curse  at  the  soldier  and  bidding  him  shoot.  The 
man  levelled  his  gun  ;  but  Turlo,  with  a  supreme  effort,  hoisted 
Edgar  from  his  feet,  and  sprang  with  him  straight  to  the 
bottom  of  the  cove. 

The  soldier,  horror-stricken,  ran  cautiously  to  the  brow  of 
the  hill,  and  looked  down.  They  rose  but  once,  still  locked 
in  each  other's  arms,  their  faces  distorted  with  rage  and  hate ; 
then,  the  waters  closed  over  them,  and  all  was  still.  The  man 
imagined  they  had  lost  their  footing  and  tumbled  in.  Turlo's 
desperate  words  had  not  reached  him ;  he  could  not  guess 
that  he  had  planned  the  thing,  and  rather  than  be  baulked, 
had  flung  his  own  life  away.  To  the  soldier's  eyes,  it  was 
but  natural  he  should  have  resisted  arrest,  and  it  was  Edgar's 
foolhardiness  in  seeking  to  capture  him  without  help  that 
had  cost  the  two  lives. 

Caesar  knew  better.  From  his  place  in  the  boat,  he  had 
witnessed  the  whole  struggle,  and  paddling  desperately  in  the 
hope  of  being  able  to  interfere,  had  got  near  enough  to  hear 
Turlo  tell  h'is  uncle  he  meant  to  drown  him.  He  knew, 
therefore,  it  was  not  an  accident.  It  was  murder  and  sui 
cide — nothing  less.  "  Dat  ud  be  en  ugly  story  ef  it  got 
erbout,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  ain't  gwine  ter  have  Marse 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  40$ 

Turlo's  name  blackened.  Besides,  Marse  Edgar  deserved 
what  he  got.  De  fam'ly'll  have  trouble  enough  ez  it  is. 
Nobody's  gwine  ter  make  me  say  'twan't  en  accident.  Dat'll 
kiver  it  up." 

He  was  greatly  relieved  when  he  found  the  only  other  wit 
ness  of  the  tragedy  had  no  suspicion  of  the  truth.  Caesar 
was  satisfied  he  would  stick  to  his  story,  which  corresponded 
exactly  with  what  he  meant  to  tell.  "  They  fit,  en'  fell  in," 
said  the  soldier.  That  was  all  he  knew.  "  Dat  wuz  it," 
assented  Caesar.  "  I  seed  it,  plain."  The  secret,  like  many 
another  family  secret,  was  safe  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

ON  the  way  home  from  the  Manor,  the  Rector  strove  to 
reassure  and  comfort  Judith.  "  You  must  try  not  to  mind 
what  Dorothea  said,  my  dear,"  he  urged.  "  It  was  very 
unkind  of  her,  but  she  was  doubtless  misled  by  what  seemed 
to  her  a  plausible  story.  She  has  never  liked  Edgar  Cheston, 
and  though  he  is  your  father,  I  must  say  my  opinion  of  him 
is — well,  a  little  prejudiced.  Dorothea  has  worked  herself 
up  to  the  belief  that  she  has  been  defrauded,  and  I'm  sorry 
to  say  she  attaches  too  much  importance  to  money.  You 
won't  permit  yourself  to  think  that  I  give  the  least  credit  to 
her  charges  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Judith,  dully.  She  was  apa 
thetic,  almost  benumbed.  What  did  it  matter  ?  Nothing  was 
of  moment  to  her  now  that  the  future  she  had  built  up  for 
herself  was  laid  in  ruins.  Nevertheless,  she  was  grateful  to 
him.  He  had  gained  her  time  to  think,  to  determine  what 
she  should  do. 

When  the  Rector  reached  home,  he  seemed  very  tired. 
He  had  had  no  breakfast,  and  the  reaction  from  the  ex 
citement  through  which  he  had  passed  left  him  weak  and 
faint.  Judith  persuaded  him  to  eat  a  bit  of  toast  and  to 
swallow  some  strong  coffee.  When  he  rose  from  the  table, 
staggering  a  little,  and  started  towards  the  study,  saying  he 
had  some  papers  he  wished  to  read,  Judith  accompanied  him. 
She  dreaded  to  be  left  alone.  His  sympathy  and  affection 
were,  after  all,  a  support  to  her.  It  was  comforting  to  feel 
there  was  still  some  one  who  cared  for  and  believed  in  her. 
The  Rector  seated  himself  at  a  table  near  the  fire,  and  began 

406 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  407 

to  look  over  a  packet  of  letters  he  had  taken  from  a  desk. 
They  were  letters  written  by  his  daughter  after  her  elopement 
and  marriage  to  Edgar  Cheston,  and  among  other  things, 
they  told  of  the  birth  of  her  child,  and  described  her  as  "  a 
little  beauty,"  with  golden  hair  and  blue  eyes. 

Judith  had  placed  a  chair  near  him,  and  sat  with  her  hands 
clasped  about  her  knees,  gazing  into  the  fire  and  listening, 
not  too  attentively,  as  he  read  to  her  a  passage  here  and 
there.  She  felt  she  ought  to  connive  at  his  self-deception. 
The  delusion  pleased  him,  and  could  do  no  harm.  She  owed 
him  something  ;  he  really  loved  her.  Ah,  if  Basil  Kent  were 
as  infatuated  1  If  he  would  but  come  to  her  and  say  he  cared 
for  her  so  much  that  nothing  mattered — not  even  her  guilt. 
He  might  come  to  her,  in  spite  of  what  was  now  known  about 
her,  but  he  would  not  say  that.  He  did  not  love  her — his 
letters  showed  that.  They  were  kind  and  even  affectionate, 
but  they  lacked  the  one  thing  she  craved — the  passion  she 
might  easily  have  inspired  in  any  other  man.  Sooner  or 
later,  he  must  learn  all.  What  would  he  say  to  her  if,  by  any 
accident,  they  met  ?  She  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  what 
he  might  say.  Meanwhile,  she  suffered  with  the  aching  sense 
of  nothingness.  Her  future  was  blank.  She  could  form  for 
herself  no  scheme  of  action  that  seemed  worth  the  effort. 
She  could  only  hope  she  might  be  spared  the  agony  of  ever 
seeing  Basil  again. 

An  hour  or  more  had  passed  in  this  way  when,  of  a  sudden, 
Mrs.  Tippett  burst  in  upon  them  all  agog  with  the  news  of 
the  catastrophe  that  had  happened  at  the  Manor. 

"  Have  you  heard  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  excitedly.  She  in 
cluded  Judith  in  her  question,  forgetting  for  the  moment 
that  she  had  resolved  not  to  recognise  her  when  she  next 
saw  her. 

The  Rector  looked  up  from  his  letters  rather  peevishly. 
He  had  had  enough  of  Dorothea's  sensations. 


408  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

"  Edgar  undertook  to  arrest  the  Colonel,"  continued  Mrs. 
Tippett  breathlessly,  "  but  Basil  Kent  arrived  just  in  time 
with  some  kind  of  paper  from  the  War  Department  which 
permitted  him  to  interfere.  Edgar  then  gave  an  order  to 
search  the  garden  for  Turlo,  and  himself  led  the  way.  He 
and  Turlo  met  on  the  bluff  near  the  cove.  There  was  a  strug 
gle  on  the  brink,  and  both  tumbled  in  and  were  drowned." 

"  Drowned  !  "  cried  Judith,  half  rising  from  her  seat  and 
falling  back,  unnerved.  Edgar  was  dead  !  The  man  who 
had  blighted  her  life  would  never  again  have  power  to  harm. 
The  wish  she  had  scarcely  dared  to  utter  to  herself  was 
a  fact.  She  felt  dizzy,  ill,  ashamed.  But  was  she  not 
avenged  ?  Turlo  had  kept  his  word  ;  he  had  made  her 
free — now,  when  she  no  longer  cared  for  freedom. 

The  Rector  tottered  to  his  feet,  shocked  and  angry. 

"  Have  you  no  heart,  Dorothea  ? "  he  cried,  pointing  to 
Judith.  "  You  forget  she  is  his  child  !  " 

"  His  child !  "  said  Mrs.  Tippett,  with  a  contemptuous  sniff. 

Her  insolence  was  too  much  for  the  Rector.  He  stood 
for  a  moment,  choking  with  indignation,  and  then,  fell  head 
long  to  the  floor,  insensible  from  an  apoplectic  stroke.  Mrs. 
Tippett  rushed  to  him,  but  Judith  was  before  her.  Kneel 
ing  beside  him,  she  raised  his  head  tenderly,  letting  it  rest 
against  her  bosom,  and  tore  open  his  shirt  collar. 

"  Go  and  get  some  brandy,"  she  cried  hastily  to  Mrs.  Tip 
pett.  That  usually  resolute  person  stared  at  her  vacantly, 
indignant  yet  uncertain  as  to  what  she  ought  to  do. 
"  Go,  I  tell  you,"  added  Judith,  impatiently.  "  You  may 
have  killed  him.  You  think  I  have  no  place  here  ?  Well,  I 
have ;  he  loves  me.  Besides,  you  haven't  proved  I'm  not 
his  granddaughter.  Until  the  courts  turn  me  out,  I've  the 
right  to  stay,  and  I  shall  stay  while  he  needs  me.  You 
needn't  fear  to  leave  me  with  him.  I  shan't  try  to  rob  you 
a  second  time.  The  money  is  nothing  to  me,  now.  Go  1 " 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  409 

Mrs.  Tippett  would  never  have  believed  it  possible,  but 
she  turned  and  went.-  The  girl  frightened  her.  She  was 
like  a  lioness  defending  her  cub.  Besides,  what  she  said 
was  true ;  she  had  no  legal  right  to  banish  her,  yet. 

Judith  took  command  of  the  servants,  sent  off  post-haste 
for  a  doctor,  and  helped  to  carry  the  Rector  to  his  room. 
She  undressed  him  herself,  and  lifting  him  in  her  strong 
arms,  laid  him  gently  in  bed.  He  had  now  partly  recovered 
consciousness  and  could  utter  a  few  broken  sentences.  His 
eyes  followed  her  slightest  movements  with  eager  love  and 
gratitude.  "  My  darling  I  "  he  whispered  once  ;  "  Who  will 
dare — to — say — you're — not — my — granddaughter,  now  ?  " 
She  kissed  him  on  the  forehead.  He  was  very  dear  to  her 
— this  dying  old  man,  whose  faith  in  her  was  unbounded  to 
the  last. 

Mrs.  Tippett  crept  into  the  sick  room  at  intervals,  but  al 
ways  found  Judith  on  guard.  It  seemed  to  her  unheard  of 
that  she  should  not  be  the  central  figure  of  the  scene.  It 
had  always  been  her  habit  to  pose  as  a  ministering  angel  on 
such  occasions.  Nursing  was,  in  fact,  her  special  forte.  It 
was  the  more  congenial  to  her  because  it  afforded  so  many 
opportunities  for  "  improving  "  talk,  a  word  in  season,  to 
people  who  might  have  eluded  her  except  when  helpless  in 
bed.  And  her  brother,  more  than  any  one  else,  claimed  her 
special  care  and  attention.  Theoretically,  it  was  almost 
indecent  that  this  girl  should  usurp  her  place  at  his  bedside, 
but  when  she  met  Judith's  steady,  unregarding  gaze,  she 
was  afraid  to  insist.  She  was  daunted  by  her  quiet  self- 
confidence,  her  evident  determination  to  remain  at  her  post. 
Even  Mrs.  Tippett  could  not  accuse  her  of  a  selfish  motive. 
In  spite  of  herself,  she  believed  what  Judith  had  said  about 
the  money.  Incredible  as  it  seemed,  the  creature  was  not 
incapable  of  gratitude.  Her  brother  had  some  reason  for 
his  obstinacy,  after  all.  Mrs.  Tippett  began  to  feel  uncom- 


4io  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

fortable  as  to  the  judgment  she  had  pronounced  upon  her. 
If  Judith  stayed  by  the  Rector  until  she  was  no  longer 
needed,  and  then,  went  away  without  claiming  anything, 
people  might  say  that  she,  Mrs.  Tippett,  had  been  unchari 
table,  hard.  Her  conscience  was  little  more  than  a  keen 
regard  for  the  opinions  of  others.  She  was  almost  willing 
to  be  kind  to  Judith. 

Judith  sought  no  concessions  from  her.  She  wished  the 
physician  would  come,  so  that  he  might  tell  her  whether  she 
had  much  longer  to  wait.  She  had  never  seen  death  imminent, 
but  she  thought  she  recognised  it  now.  When  the  Rector 
had  breathed  his  last,  his  hand  in  hers,  there  would  be  noth 
ing  to  hold  her  longer  to  this  spot.  She  was  burning  to  get 
away,  to  hide  in  some  secluded  corner  where  no  one  knew 
her  for  what  she  was — a  cheat,  an  impostor,  a  thief.  Then 
would  come  the  awakening  to  that  other  life  she  dreaded. 
Meanwhile,  she  waited,  patiently.  For  the  first  time,  she 
realised  what  gratitude  and  duty  mean  ;  what  burdens  affec 
tion  lays  on  shoulders  that  have  never  borne  its  yoke.  She 
was  doing  an  unselfish  thing,  a  thing  that  caused  her  pain, 
yet  shed  a  refreshing  dew  upon  her  tortured  heart.  She 
could  not  leave  him ;  it  pleased  her  to  think  she  made  him 
happy  at  the  close  of  a  long  life,  full  of  good  deeds,  and  that 
none  other  could  replace  her,  vagabond  though  she  was. 
For  him,  she  was  real,  though  fictitious ;  he  had  touched  in 
her  the  springs  of  genuine  love. 

The  doctor  arrived  in  the  course  of  an  hour.  At  the  first 
glance,  his  eyes  grew  grave.  The  Rector  was  barely  con 
scious  :  his  respiration  was  faint ;  the  end  was  near. 

"  Has  he  made  his  will  ?  "  the  doctor  asked  Judith,  drawing 
her  aside. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  indifferently.  It  was  of  no 
concern  to  her. 

11  If  he  hasn't,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it's  too  late,  now."     He 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  411 

glanced  at  Judith  sympathetically.  He  was  a  little,  dried-up 
old  man,  but  he  had  a  kind  heart  and  a  weakness  for  pretty 
women.  The  news  of  Mrs.  Tippett's  revelations  at  the  Manor 
had  reached  him,  and  though  that  lady  was  now  more  guarded, 
she  had  just  given  him  to  understand  that  Judith's  title  to 
the  Magruder  fortune  was  at  least  a  matter  of  doubt.  He 
felt  very  sorry  for  the  beautiful  girl.  The  Rector,  he  was 
sure,  would  have  wished  to  make  some  provision  for  her. 
He  regretted  he  had  not  arrived  a  little  sooner.  He  would 
have  undertaken,  himself,  to  draw  up  a  will.  But  it  was 
out  of  the  question  now,  and  she  didn't  seem  to  care.  He 
was  inclined  to  doubt  the  charges  against  her. 

Judith  took  her  seat  again  at  the  Rector's  side,  and  laid 
her  hand  in  his.  He  pressed  it  feebly,  and  a  faint  smile 
showed  itself  for  a  moment  in  his  glazing  eyes,  as  she  wiped 
away  the  clammy  moisture  that  gathered  on  his  brow.  She 
felt  him  growing  colder ;  he  began  to  gasp.  She  raised  his 
head  so  that  he  might  breathe  more  easily :  a  convulsive 
tremor  shook  him,  and  he  fell  back  on  the  pillow — he  was 
dead.  She  bent  down  and  kissed  him ;  then  turned  to  go. 
He  needed  her  no  longer.  At  the  door,  she  met  Mrs.  Tippett, 
who  uttered  a  shrill  scream  at  sight  of  the  motionless  form 
on  the  bed.  Judith  passed  her  without  a  word.  She  had 
no  part  in  Mrs.  Tippett's  grief,  nor  in  anything  here.  Her 
only  thought,  now,  was  to  leave  the  Rectory  at  once.  Basil 
was  at  the  Manor,  so  Mrs.  Tippett  had  said  ;  he  might  come 
at  any  moment.  She  couldn't  bear  that!  Anxious  to  make 
sure  of  her  escape,  while  there  was  still  time,  she  hurried 
downstairs  to  give  the  order  for  a  carriage  to  convey  her  to 
the  nearest  wharf.  As  she  reached  the  hall,  the  front  door 
opened,  and  Basil  entered. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

JUDITH  drew  back  hastily,  and  would  have  fled  upstairs, 
but  it  was  too  late.  Basil  had  seen  her,  and  was  coming  to 
wards  her.  She  stiffened  at  his  approach.  Since  it  had  to 
be,  she  would  not  flinch.  In  spite  of  her  dread  of  him,  she 
was  almost  glad,  now  that  a  meeting  was  inevitable  ;  it  would 
be  as  well  for  her  to  know  the  worst.  At  least,  she  would 
not  be  haunted  by  the  thought  that  he  might  have  pardoned 
her,  and  taken  her  to  his  heart.  Of  course,  that  couldn't  be, 
and  yet,  had  she  succeeded  in  stealing  away  without  seeing 
him,  she  might  never  have  been  quite  sure. 

Basil's  face  was  grave,  but  it  brightened  when  he  saw  her. 

" Judith  1"  he  exclaimed,  offering  her  his  hand.  "I've 
just  come  from  the  Manor.  Dreadful  things  have  happened 
there.  You  know  about  your  father  ?  I've  hastened  here 
to  see  if  I  could  be  of  any  help.." 

"  My  father  1  "  she  said,  with  a  strange  smile.  "  Then, 
you  haven't  heard  ?  " 

"  What  Mrs.  Tippett  said  about  you  ? "  he  asked,  with  evi 
dent  constraint.  "Yes,  Mr.  Plunkett  told  me.  But  of 
course,  I  didn't  believe  it.  Both  of  them  are  prone  to  jump 
to  conclusions  on  very  slight  evidence.  And  how  could  I 
believe  it  of  you  ? " 

"  But  what  if  it  were  true  ?  "  she  demanded,  with  bated 
breath.  Could  it  be  he  meant  to  ignore  the  truth  ?  Was 
it  possible  he  cared  enough  for  her,  after  all,  to  take  her  as 
she  was,  and  close  his  eyes  to  her  guilt  ?  Ah,  that  were  too 
much  to  hope  for  1  And  yet,  there  was  a  flicker  of  hope  in 
her  heart,  rekindled  suddenly  amid  the  embers  of  her  ruined 
happiness  by  the  unquenchable  flame  of  her  desire.  She 

412 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  413 

willed  it  to  be  so,  and  stood  before  him,  radiant  with  an 
energy  of  passion  that  gave  her  beauty  a  new,  transcendent 
charm.  She  felt  a  sense  of  returning  power,  such  as  she 
had  so  often  wielded,  and  rejoiced.  For  the  moment,  she 
was  almost  confident.  No ;  he  could  not  resist  her  if — if  he 
cared  but  a  little  less  than  she  feared  for  that  girl. 

"  If  it  were  true  !  "  exclaimed  Basil,  shocked ;  "  but  surely, 
Judith,  you  don't  mean  to  ask  that  question  of  me  ?  " 

He  had  come  to  her  in  good  faith,  anxious  to  show  un 
shaken  confidence  in  her.  There  might  be  truth  in  the 
story,  so  far  as  Edgar  Cheston  was  concerned.  Basil  had  seen 
enough  that  day  to  convince  him  he  was  capable  of  almost 
any  crime.  A  man  who  could  arrest  his  brother  and  hunt 
his  nephew  to  death  would  not  hesitate  at  a  mere  fraud. 
But  that  Judith  was  guilty  of  conscious  complicity  with  him,  he 
did  not,  for  a  moment,  believe.  The  mere  idea  was  odious 
to  him.  Even  if  she  were  not  Edgar's  daughter,  she  might 
have  been  led  to  think  herself  to  be  so.  It  was  but  natural 
she  should  wish  to  hide  from  a  community  so  rigid  in  its 
social  prejudices  the  fact  that  she  had  been  on  the  stage. 
It  were  easy  enough  to  pardon  her  that.  To  his  mind,  she 
was  scarcely  affected  at  all  by  Mrs.  Tippett's  revelations. 
Even  had  he  thought  her  blamable,  he  would  have  excused 
her  on  the  ground  of  her  father's  influence  over  her.  How 
could  he  doubt  she  was  sound  at  heart  ?  Had  she  not  always 
shown  herself  to  him  to  be  a  refined  and  gifted  woman,  ingenu 
ous,  pure-minded,  true  ?  Could  any  woman,  clever  actress 
though  she  be,  keep  up  such  an  imposture,  day  after  day,  with 
out  some  unconscious  lapse  which  would  have  betrayed  her  ? 
The  thing  was  absurd. 

At  any  rate,  he,  of  all  men,  should  be  the  last  to  doubt  her. 
In  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  it  was  clear,  she  had  been 
moved  only  by  the  impulses  of  her  heart.  The  most  scepti 
cal  could  attribute  no  sordid  motive  in  her  preference  of 


4H  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

him.  He  had  nothing  to  give  her,  he  fancied  but  the  constancy, 
the  affection,  the  sympathy  it  should  be  a  privilege  to  offer. 
He  was  bound  to  her  by  ties  that  seemed  to  him  to  be  sacred, 
that  he  could  not  permit  himself  to  think  might  be  broken. 
His  only  thought  had  been  to  hasten  to  her,  to  protect 
her,  to  shield  her  from  detraction,  to  reassure  her  with  his 
unquestioning  belief.  She  had  honoured  him  supremely ;  he 
would  honour  her,  now,  in  the  way  she  would  value  most,  by 
lifting  her  above  the  reach  of  slander  and  malice.  He  had 
come  to  beg  her  to  go  to  her  grandfather  with  him,  that  he 
might  ask  the  Rector  to  make  them  man  and  wife.  And 
she  asked  him  what  if  the  lies  that  had  been  told  about  her 
were  true  !  Perhaps,  it  was  merely  a  bit  of  coquetry — but  it 
seemed  strange,  and  jarred  on  him  at  a  moment  like  this. 
No  doubt,  she  was  a  little  unstrung. 

"  Of  course,  you  were  jesting,"  he  added,  with  a  rather 
forced  smile.  "  I  came  to  ask  you  to  marry  me,  at  once." 

Jesting  !  The  truth,  she  saw,  was  inconceivable  to  him.  His 
words  extinguished  the  last  spark  of  hope.  They  said  to  her 
plainly  that  he  was  ready  to  make  her  his  wife  because  he 
believed  in  her.  Had  he  not  believed,  had  he  doubted 
even,  he  would  have  recoiled.  Her  only  power  over  him 
was  that  which  sprang  from  his  loyalty,  his  faith  in  her.  She 
might  have  known  it !  What  a  fool  she  had  been  to  dream, 
even  for  a  moment,  of  reconciling  him  to  her  shame ! 
The  truth  must  be  brought  home  to  him,  sooner  or 
later,  in  spite  of  his  generous  incredulity — there  was  no 
escape.  If  she  permitted  him  to  marry  her,  he  could  never 
forgive  her ;  for  him,  she  would  be  an  abandoned  creature 
who  had  foully  abused  his  trust.  They  would  drag  out 
their  lives  together  in  bonds  that  would  be  hateful  to  him 
and  torturing  for  her.  That  were  worse — infinitely  worse 
— than  to  lose  him.  She  could  imagine  no  greater  torment  in 
hell, 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  415 

"  To  marry  me,"  she  repeated  after  him,  mechanically.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  uttering  the  words  by  rote. 
The  prize  she  panted  for — it  was  hers  to  take,  and  she  could 
not  take  it ! 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  puzzled  at  her  strange  agitation,  "  shall 
we  go  to  the  Rector  ?  " 

"Hush!  "  she  murmured,  suddenly  recollecting  what  had 
happened  upstairs,  and  drawing  Basil  into  the  study,  "  he  is 
dead." 

"  Dead !  "  cried  Basil,  inexpressibly  shocked. 

"  He  was  at  the  Manor,  and  heard  Mrs.  Tippett.  It  was 
too  much  for  him.  He  had  a  stroke  an  hour  or  two  ago,  and 
died  in  my  arms.  He  never  doubted  me ;  I  don't  believe 
it  would  have  made  much  difference  if  he  had.  He  loved 
me." 

She  spoke  almost  coldly,  as  if  merely  making  a  statement 
of  facts  that  had  no  particular  significance  for  her.  Basil 
was  conscious  of  a  veiled  reproach  in  her  words.  Could  she 
mean  that  if  he  loved  her,  it  would  make  no  difference 
whether  what  was  said  of  her  were  true  ?  He  was  beginning 
to  be  disturbed.  Why  did  she  persist  in  forcing  this  issue 
upon  him  ?  Well,  she  was  right ;  he  did  not  love  her  I  He 
had  tried  hard  enough.  It  ought  to  be  easy  for  him. 
Many  men  would  have  envied  him  the  chance.  But  there 
was  that  other  image  that  haunted  him  still — that  face,  those 
eyes,  which  would  not  be  banished.  During  his  absence  in 
the  army,  the  influence  he  had  felt  in  Judith's  presence  on  that 
eventful  night  at  the  Rectory  had  faded  more  and  more ;  at 
times,  he  was  dismayed  by  a  feeling  of  actual  repugnance  at  the 
thought  of  marrying  her ;  he  awoke  with  a  shock,  at  last,  to 
the  knowledge  that  it  would  be  impossible  ever  really  to  give 
her  his  heart.  It  was  Lydia  to  whom  his  thoughts  insistently 
turned.  Though  lost  to  him,  she  was  ever  present.  In  the 
quiet  watches  by  the  camp  fire  at  night ;  in  the  hurried 


416  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

march;  yes — even  in  the  roar  of  battle,  it  had  been  the 
same.  He  thought  of  her  always  with  inextinguishable  long 
ing,  with  passionate  regret.  How  could  he  tell  Judith  that 
he  loved  her,  anxious  though  he  was  to  soothe  her,  to  assure 
her  of  his  fidelity,  his  desire  to  help  ?  He  had  convinced 
himself  it  might,  some  day,  be  his  duty  to  deceive  her ;  but 
now,  at  the  supreme  moment,  he  knew  it  was  impossible. 
She  would  read  the  falsehood  in  his  eyes.  He  was  but  a  bun 
gler,  after  all. 

"  We  must  part,"  continued  Judith,  gazing  straight  at  him, 
with  growing  harshness  in  her  voice.  It  was  time  to  make 
an  end.  The  truth  must  be  made  clear  to  him  now,  by  her ; 
otherwise,  there  would  be  no  finality  in  their  parting. 
Since  the  wrench  must  come,  she  preferred  it  should  be  sud 
den  and  complete.  It  would  only  be  the  harder  for  her  to 
undergo  the  slow,  harrowing  process  of  a  gradual  alienation. 
Still,  she  hesitated.  It  was  almost  too  much  to  have  to 
abase  herself  before  him.  "  If  I  had  met  you  earlier  I  "  she 
exclaimed  with  sudden  vehemence,  clutching  desperately  at 
the  only  means  of  excusing  herself.  "  You  would,  at  least, 
have  protected  me  from  him.  I  think  I  could  have  been 
what  I  pretended  to  be."  She  paused,  trembling  at  the 
horror  of  what  she  must  say,  and  then  hurried  on  wildly. 

"  Why  did  you  come  into  my  life  so  late  ?  " — there  was 
pitiful  upbraiding  in  her  tone — "  Why  did  you  awaken  in  me 
new  thoughts,  new  aspirations,  only  to  show  me  what  I  had 
missed  ?  I  would  never  have  known  ;  I  would  not  have 
suffered.  It  was  cruel  of  you — though  you  did  not  know  it 
— to  lift  me  out  of  myself,  when  you  had  nothing  for  me  in 
your  heart.  Until  I  met  you,  men  had  been  more  or  less 
contemptible — ah,  you  had  no  right  to  disturb  my  indiffer 
ence  ;  you  did  not  care.  You  taught  me  what  love  was  :  I 
learned,  for  the  first  time,  that  there  could  be  nobility  in  men. 
You  compelled  me  to  honour  you,  to  believe  in  you,  to  wish 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  417 

to  imitate  you,  even  though  I  knew  your  virtues  were  beyond 
my  reach.  And  for  what  ?  That  I  might  be  brought  face 
to  face,  at  last,  with  your  icy  insistence  upon  my  fitness 
to  marry  you.  I  am  not  fit — I  could  not  be  ;  but  if  you 
loved  me — No,  no  ;  it  was  not  your  fault.  How  could  you 
suspect  what  I  really  was,  or  imagine  the  effect  upon  a 
woman  like  me  of  contact  with  a  man  who  opened  a  new 
world  to  her  ?  You  came  here  to  marry  me — why  ?  Because 
you  were  bound  to  me  ;  you  wished  to  protect  me  ;  you  were 
determined  to  believe  me  pure.  You  never  once  said  to 
yourself — '  Whatever  she  is,  she  must  be  mine.'  Did  you 
not  boast  to  me,  once,  that  even  passion  would  never 
reconcile  you  to  a  woman  you  could  not  respect  ?  I  per 
suaded  myself  you  were  not  so  strong  as  you  thought  ;  that 
it  was  possible  to  ensnare  you  as  I  had  ensnared  other  men 
— you  see  I  keep  back  nothing ;  why  should  I,  now  ?  I  was 
a  fool — a  vain,  reckless  fool.  But  I  am  punished — even 
your  hard  sense  of  justice  should  be  satisfied.  You  exact 
the  truth  from  me  ;  well,  you  shall  have  it.  Mrs.  Tippett  did 
not  exaggerate  ;  I  am  an  adventuress  ;  I  was  trained  to  be 
one  by  Edgar  Cheston.  I  was  his  willing  accomplice  even 
after  I  had  ceased  to  be  his  dupe.  Why  do  you  not  shrink 
from  me  ?  There  is  pollution  for  you  in  my  touch  1 " 

Her  eyes  blazed  with  fierce  defiance — let  him  think  the 
worst  of  her,  if  he  would.  It  was  partly  his  work.  She 
might  not  have  been  so  guilty  but  for  him  ;  at  least,  she  would 
not  have  realised  her  guilt  :  if  she  had  never  known  him, 
she  might  have  gone  on  sinning  to  the  end,  without  a  twinge. 
He  -would  think  the  worst.  He  was  so  complacently  vir 
tuous,  so  sure  of  his  own  rectitude,  so  humble  in  his  attitude 
towards  her,  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  conceive 
of  himself  as  tempting  her.  How  could  he  comprehend  ? 
He  would  make  no  allowances  ;  he  would  judge  her  inexor 
ably  according  to  his  ideas  of  what  a  woman  ought  to  be. 
27 


418  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Ah,  no,  there  must  be  some  pity  in  his  heart,  some  faint 
perception  of  the  cruelty  of  it  for  her.  She  would  go  mad  if 
she  carried  away  with  her  only  his  contempt. 

"  You  do  not  quite  loathe  me  ?  "  she  asked  imploringly, 
breaking  down  and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  "  you  will 
remember  me  sometimes  only  as  I  was  to  you — will  you  not  ? 
That  was  my  inner  self — the  self  that  none  but  you  could 
ever  have  revealed  to  me  ;  the  self  that  might  have  grown  to 
maturity  had  it  not  been  starved  and  stunted  from  the  first. 
I  never  had  a  chance — can  you  believe  me  in  spite  of  what 
I  am,  and — and  understand  ?  " 

Basil  gazed  at  her,  speechless.  He  was  dumb  with  amaze 
ment  and  pain.  She  was  what  Mrs.  Tippett  had  declared 
her  to  be — this  lovely,  innocent-looking  creature  whom  he 
had  reverenced  as  one  of  the  purest,  the  noblest  of  women  ! 
He  had  heard  her  confession  with  a  growing  sense  of  its 
awfulness  for  her,  the  bitterness  of  its  reproach  for  him.  She 
was  right ;  he  was  greatly  to  blame.  But  for  him,  she  need 
not  have  suffered  as  she  was  suffering  now.  Even  though 
she  exaggerated  his  influence  over  her — as  of  course  she  did 
— he  could  comprehend  its  importance  to  a  woman  who  had 
had  her  experience  of  men.  She  had  invested  him  with 
attributes  which  seemed  quite  ordinary  to  him,  but  were  phe 
nomenal  to  her.  In  his  blindness,  he  had  unwittingly  encour 
aged  her  to  pin  all  her  hopes  upon  him,  and  he  had  failed 
her  now  in  her  desperate  need.  It  was  a  tragedy — nothing 
less  ;  a  tragedy  all  the  more  pitiful  because  it  ought  never  to 
have  befallen  her.  Ah,  yes,  he  saw  it  all  so  clearly  !  As 
she  had  said,  she  had  never  had  a  chance.  Even  as  a  child 
— poor  little  innocent  ! — she  had  been  immeshed.  A  web  of 
corrupting  influences  had  been  spun  about  her  with  a  devilish 
cunning  which  knew  no  pity,  which  guided  her  inexorably 
to  the  fulfilment  of  a  destiny  that  was  worse  than  death.  It 
was  frightful.  What  could  he  do  ?  Where  did  his  honour 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  419 

lie  ?  His  honour  I  It  was  nothing  beside  her  dire  need  of 
help.  But  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  the  only  thing 
that  would  help  her — to  utter  the  lie,  "  I  love  you,  in  spite 
of  all." 

"  What  will  become  of  you  ?  "  he  stammered,  feeling  him 
self  to  be  miserably  incapable  and  foolish.  His  question 
seemed  to  him  brutal.  It  implied  a  readiness  to  accept  the 
detachment  of  himself  from  her,  as  she  had  proposed,  which 
he  was  really  far  from  feeling.  If  there  were  only  some  way 
out  of  it — some  means  by  which  he  could  still  associate  him 
self  with  her ! 

Her  eyes  brightened  for  a  moment  with  a  grateful  glance : 
he  still  concerned  himself  about  her ! 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  ask,"  she  said,  and  then,  her  face 
clouding  again,  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  recklessness, 
"  Don't  worry  about  me.  I  haven't  thought  of  what  I 
shall  do,  but  I  shan't  starve.  There's  the  stage ;  I  can 
return  to  it.  Can  you  forgive  me?  That  is  all  I  care 
about,  now." 

"  What  have  I  to  forgive  ?  If  you  leave  us,  I  shall 
never  think  of  you  except  as  a  dear  friend  whom  I  have 
lost." 

"  Yes,  lost,"  she  cried  bitterly — "  lost  to  every  one  as  to 
you.  I  am  burying  the  woman  you  knew ;  no  one  else  shall 
ever  know  her,  and  I — I  shall  try  to  forget  her.  I  strove  so 
hard  to  be  better  for  your  sake,  Basil ;  I  shall  never  be  so 
silly  again.  It  is  too  much  trouble;  it  gives  one  too  many 
heartaches !  I  was  fashioned  for  other  things — things  that 
you  abhor.  I  must  go  back  to  them  ;  all  other  doors  are 
closed  to  me.  Our  friendship  has  been  a  mere  episode  in 
your  life — nothing  more.  For  me,  it  was  all  the  life  worth 
living  I  shall  ever  know.  The  rest  will  be  merely  drifting, 
and  if  some  sudden  eddy  should  drag  me  under,  so  much 
the  better.  Oh,  really,  you  need  have  no  solicitude  for  me  I 


420  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

I  shall  not  deserve  it.  You  are  free  to  go  to  her  you  love. 
I  could  never  understand  why  you  love  her,  but  it  is  so.  I 
know  it,  well,  though  you  have  tried  hard  to  hide  it  from  me. 
And  she  is  pining  for  you.  Don't  waste  your  time  here  1  " 

There  was  savage  irony  in  her  voice.  The  love  of  Lydia 
seemed  to  her  such  a  trivial  thing  compared  with  the  gravity, 
the  depth — yes,  the  grandeur  of  her  passion.  She  had 
sinned  against  this  man — but  only  under  compulsion  ;  how 
willingly  she  would  have  sinned,  aye,  to  the  farthest  limit,  for 
him.  That  prim  little  Puritan  was  incapable  of  such  aban 
don  ;  she  would  have  shrunk  from  the  mere  thought  of  it  in 
holy  horror ;  religious  prejudices  had  made  her  half-hearted, 
timid.  Yet  he  worshipped  her,  and  even  the  faintest  shade 
of  love  in  her  would  set  his  blood  on  fire  :  she  knew  it.  She 
flung  the  pitiful  thing  to  him  contemptuously.  If  that 
was  his  only  idea  of  happiness,  let  him  have  it.  It  was 
no  loss  to  her  now  that  she  was  nothing  more  than  a 
"  friend "  to  him.  A  friend  1  Good  God  !  And  it  had 
been  reserved  for  her  to  point  the  way  for  him  to  the  fruition 
of  his  passion.  He  might  have  gone  blundering  on  for 
months,  perhaps  for  years,  imagining  Lydia  was  indifferent 
to  him,  but  for  her.  What  a  mockery  it  was  of  her  wild 
dreams ! 

Basil  did  not  seem  inclined  to  obey  her,  but  lingered, 
irresolute.  Of  course,  that  was  nonsense  about  Lydia's 
"  pining  "  for  him,  and  he  felt  more  strongly  than  ever  the 
obligation  to  aid  Judith  in  some  way.  But  what  aid  could  he 
give  ?  All  was  over  between  them.  Even  gratitude  and 
pity  did  not  demand  of  him  that  he  should  link  his  life  with 
that  of  a  woman  whom  he  could  never  love,  whose  past 
would  always  rise  up  before  him  a  thing  of  horror.  And 
could  he  have  brought  himself  to  such  a  sacrifice,  she  would 
not  have  accepted  it — he  saw  that,  clearly.  Ah,  she  was 
really  noble  in  spite  of  all !  She  wanted  nothing  of  him 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  421 

but  his  love  ;  she  had  not  deceived  him  for  any  mercenary 
object.  No ;  of  himself,  he  could  not  help  her,  but  might 
he  not  enlist  the  good  offices  of  the  family  at  the  Manor  ? 
An  invitation  from  them,  perhaps,  would  change  her  pur 
pose.  If  they  assured  her  of  their  support,  she  might 
be  induced  to  remain  and  live  down  the  scandal.  Anything 
were  better  than  a  return  to  her  former  life,  especially  in  her 
present  mood.  But  there  was  Lydia.  Judith  was  evidently 
inflamed  against  her.  Basil  felt  instinctively  it  would  be 
impossible  to  reconcile  them.  It  were  idle,  of  course,  to 
appeal  to  Mrs.  Tippett,  and  he  was  uncertain  as  to  the 
attitude  towards  her  which  the  Colonel's  wife  and  mother 
might  take.  Besides,  she  seemed  so  competent,  so  strong, 
so  bitter.  He  could  imagine  her  scorning  any  offer  of  as 
sistance. 

"  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you  ? "  he  asked  lamely, 
"  I  mean — about  the  Rector." 

"Nothing,"  she  answered.  "  Mrs.  Tippett  will  doubtless 
make  the  arrangements  for  the  funeral." 

She  was  anxious  for  him  to  go.  She  could  not  bear  the 
strain  much  longer. 

"  I  shall  ride  over  in  the  morning,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  tell  him  she  would  not  be  there,  but  merely 
thanked  him  and  said  good-bye.  By  the  morning,  she  hoped, 
she  would  be  far  away. 

She  stood  at  a  window  watching  him  as  he  mounted  his 
horse  and  rode  off.  She  would  never  see  him  again — if  she 
could  help  it.  All  she  asked  was  forgetfulness,  distraction 
of  some  kind.  She  might  find  the  latter,  now  and  then,  in 
the  life  of  the  stage  ;  in  the  homage  she  had  learned  to  de 
spise  ;  in  the  adulation  of  men  whom  she  could  bend  to  her 
will.  Good  was  not  for  her  ;  might  not  evil  have  its  uses  ? 
She  was  a  social  Ishmaelite  once  more,  free  to  follow  her  im 
pulses,  unfettered  by  either  love  or  fear — Basil  Kent,  Edgar 


422  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Cheston,  were  they  not  both  dead  to  her  now  ?  And  those 
impulses  would  not  be  kindly.  Life  had  used  her  hardly ; 
she  would  get  out  of  it  whatever  might  recompense  her,  if 
ever  so  little,  without  regard  for  those  who  ministered  to  her 
desires.  She  was  still  beautiful.  She  could  use  her  beauty 
as  she  pleased,  without  having  to  account  to  any  one.  Now 
that  Edgar  Cheston  was  dead,  no  man  should  ever  again  be 
able  to  call  her  his  slave.  She  might  be  sure  she  would 
never  meet  another  Basil  Kent.  She  thirsted  for  vengeance 
on  the  kind  of  men  who  had  made  her  unfit  for  him.  But 
for  them,  she  might  have  been  worthy  of  him.  Edgar 
Cheston  was  beyond  the  reach  of  punishment,  but  there  were 
others  who  had  helped  him  to  shape  her  life,  to  bring  her  to 
this.  Ah,  she  would  make  them  suffer — in  the  only  way 
they  could  suffer  :  she  would  squander  her  beauty  in  tor 
turing  their  lust.  What  else  was  there  for  her  to  choose  ? 
Was  she  not  a  pariah  from  whom  all  the  virtuous  would 
shrink  ?  And  the  bad — would  they  not  flock  about  her, 
struggling,  like  so  many  vultures,  who  should  be  the  first  to 
pull  her  down,  to  make  her  his  prey  ?  Whithersoever  she 
turned,  there  would  be  no  mercy  for  her.  She  stretched  out 
her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  despairing  wrath,  and  her  bosom 
heaved.  Let  it  be  so :  she  would  ask  no  mercy  and  give 
none.  Blow  for  blow,  and  her  moments  of  victory — she 
would  have  them,  she  was  sure — would  be  sweet. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

ON  his  way  home,  Basil  speculated,  at  first  rather  vaguely, 
upon  what  Judith  had  said  of  Lydia.  Could  it  be  that  Lydia 
thought  more  gently  of  him  ?  Had  his  absence  wrought  a 
change  ?  It  might  be  that  her  feeling  against  him  had 
softened  when  he  was  no  longer  at  hand  to  vex  her,  as  he 
must  have  done,  with  the  tacit  importunity  of  his  presence. 
It  was  tempting  to  think  that  Judith,  perhaps,  had  some  slight 
ground  for  her  assertion.  She  had  had  better  opportunities 
for  learning  what  Lydia  actually  felt  than  probably  any  one 
else.  They  were  girls  of  nearly  the  same  age,  and  cousins  ; 
no  doubt,  they  had,  at  times,  confided  in  each  other. 

If  Lydia  had  merely  brought  herself  to  the  point  of  for 
giving  his  political  offenses — that  would  be  something ;  he 
might  approach  her  with  the  hope  of  being  no  longer  un 
welcome.  He  would  be  content  with  little.  It  would  be 
happiness  for  him  merely  to  meet  her  on  friendly  terms. 
Why  should  he  not  satisfy  himself  as  to  her  real  attitude 
towards  him  ?  He  was  free  to  seek  her.  Judith  had  sur 
rendered  all  claims  upon  him,  and  had  even  urged  him  to 
hasten  to  her.  What  a  strange  irony  of  fate  if  she  should 
prove  to  be  the  agent  of  their  reconciliation  !  When  he  drew 
up  at  the  Manor  gate,  he  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
decided  to  make  the  venture. 

On  reaching  the  house,  he  was  informed  by  Pompey,  who 
came  to  the  door,  that  Young  Miss  had  started  a  few  minutes 
before  for  the  Indian  Spring.  Basil  tied  his  horse  to  one  of 
the  hitching  posts,  and  set  out  across  the  fields.  The  Indian 
Spring  !  It  was  there  he  had  told  her  of  his  love,  and  won 
from  her  the  scant  permission  to  pay  a  kind  of  court  to  her 

423 


424  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

— a  concession  she  had  soon  recalled.     He  was  cheered  by 
the  fact  that  she  had  sought  this  spot. 

Lydia  had  gone  for  a  walk,  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  She 
never  took  this  path  without  thinking  of  Basil.  Except  for 
that  wretched  day  at  the  fox  hunt,  it  was  at  the  spring  that 
she  had  seen  him  alone  for  the  last  time.  How  little  she  had 
dreamed,  when  she  dismissed  him  so  negligently  there,  that 
she  was  sending  him  away  from  her  forever  1  The  place 
had  grown  very  dear  to  her  in  spite  of  the  pain  her  visits 
caused  her ;  there  seemed  to  linger  about  it  some  breath  of 
Basil — of  the  Basil  who  had  gazed  at  her  there  with  such 
ardent  eyes,  and  had  uttered  those  words  of  love  which 
now  had  grown  so  precious  in  her  memory.  He  was  hers 
then,  surely.  The  spot  united  them  again  in  thought,  at  least, 
and  so,  when  she  felt  loneliest,  she  always  sought  it.  Her 
heart  was  almost  heavier  now  than  it  had  ever  been  before. 
The  bodies  of  her  brother  and  her  uncle  had  been  recovered 
from  the  cove,  and  were  lying  side  by  side  in  the  hall.  The 
family  was  torn  with  grief ;  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  was 
one  of  suffocating  gloom,  and  now  that  her  mother  was  quiet, 
she  had  hastened  to  escape  from  it  for  a  little  while.  It 
seemed  as  if  fate  were  doubly  cruel  to  her.  The  family 
tragedy  had  followed  swiftly  upon  the  blow  she  had  suffered 
at  Basil's  hands  when  he  met  her  advances  so  coldly.  He 
was  not  willing  to  give  her  even  a  kind  word.  No  doubt,  he 
was  now  with  Judith,  assuring  her  of  his  devotion.  It  were 
enough,  Lydia  fancied,  for  him  to  hear  of  Mrs.  Tippett's  im 
putations  to  cause  him  to  hasten  to  Judith's  side.  She  would 
have  done  it  in  his  place,  and  he  was  more  generous  than 
she.  Even  if  Judith  had  erred,  and  Lydia  did  not  for  a  mo 
ment  believe  her  guilty  of  what  Mrs.  Tippett  asserted,  Basil 
would  have  no  words  of  aught  but  comfort  for  her.  Did 
he  not  love  her  ?  And  Judith  was  so  beautiful,  so  captivat 
ing,  that  no  one  in  her  presence  could  think  of  blame.  It 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  425 

was  the  conviction  of  all  this  that  hurt  her  so.  But  for  her 
childish  ignorance  and  folly  that  day  at  the  spring,  and 
afterwards,  it  might  be  at  her  side,  not  Judith's,  that  he 
would  now  be  uttering  words  of  sympathy  and  love. 

She  was  very  tired.  As  she  moved  slowly  along  the  well- 
known  path,  she  felt  the  contrast  of  her  lagging  gait  with 
the  buoyancy  of  step  with  which  she  had  trod  it  that  April 
morning  with  Basil.  It  was  autumn  now,  and  things  were 
dead,  like  her  hopes  of  but  a  few  months  ago.  The  skies 
were  leaden,  the  fields  sere  and  faded,  the  trees  robbed  of 
nearly  all  their  leaves.  When  she  reached  the  spring,  at 
last,  so  far  from  feeling  refreshed,  she  was  almost  exhausted. 
She  wished  she  could  have  a  "  good  cry."  But  tears  did  not 
come  easily  of  late.  She  had  grown  used  to  bearing  things 
without  giving  way. 

The  spot  was  beautiful  still,  but  no  longer  with  the  fresh 
ness  and  radiance  of  spring,  and  there  was  a  touch  of 
melancholy  in  its  nakedness.  The  brook  was  the  same,  but 
it  sang  a  chillier  song.  The  birds  struck  notes  that  seemed 
almost  harsh,  and  there  was  none  of  the  gay  caroling  of  that 
bright  April  day.  The  delicate  blending  of  tints  in  wood 
and  thicket  was  gone,  and  there  were  only  the  russets  and 
browns  of  the  carpet  of  leaves  that  covered  the  hillside,  and 
the  gray  or  black  or  umber  of  the  different  species  of  trees. 
But  there  was  enough  in  it  all  to  recall  to  her  vividly  the  in 
cidents  that  had  made  so  fateful  an  impression  upon  her 
life.  How  happy,  how  careless,  how  foolishly  proud  she  had 
been  1  Ah,  if  she  could  but  live  it  over  once  more !  A 
wave  of  passionate  regret  and  longing  swept  through  her, 
jarring  every  nerve.  Faint  with  emotion,  she  leaned  against 
the  trunk  of  a  giant  elm  that  overlooked  the  spring,  and 
gazed  about  her  with  dry,  burning  eyes.  Her  gaze  had  in 
it  an  intense,  compelling  look,  as  if  it  sought  to  revive  the 
past  and  make  it  real. 


426  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

A  footstep,  crunching  the  dead  leaves,  caused  her  to  start 
and  look  round.  The  intruder,  she  saw,  at  a  glance,  was 
Basil.  What  had  brought  him  ?  What  could  be  the  mean 
ing  of  their  meeting  here  ?  Trembling,  she  waited  for  him 
to  speak.  He  did  not  speak,  but  questioned  her  with  his 
eyes.  His  anxiety  was  plainly  as  great  as  her  own.  They 
had  only  to  look  at  each  other  to  learn  the  truth.  Love 
spoke  in  their  faces  with  an  eloquence  that  needed  no 
words.  Lydia  was  the  less  doubtful  of  the  two.  Basil's 
look  was,  for  her,  reminiscent.  It  carried  her  back  to  those 
moments  when  a  consuming  eagerness  had  shone  in  his 
eyes,  as  now.  It  seemed  to  her  almost  as  if  they  had  never 
stirred  from  the  spot,  as  if  all  the  misery  she  had  suffered 
since  then  had  been  only  a  hateful  dream.  She  did  not  stop 
to  ask  herself  what  had  happened  between  him  and  Judith. 
It  was  enough  that  he  was  here,  beside  her ;  never,  as  she 
hoped,  to  leave  her  again. 

"  Basil  1  "  she  cried,  in  a  tone  he  had  never  heard  before. 
There  was  invitation  in  it ;  the  rush  of  pent-up  forces ;  a 
clear  note  of  love. 

"  Lydia  !  "  he  answered,  his  brain  in  a  whirl.  Each  took 
a  step  forward  involuntarily,  and  without  knowing  how  it 
happened,  he  found  her  in  his  arms.  He  held  her  awkward 
ly  for  a  moment,  not  daring  to  caress  her,  as  if  he  feared 
to  frighten  her  away.  But  when  he  felt  her  head  nestling 
confidently  on  his  shoulder,  and  looking  down,  saw 'her  glo 
rious  eyes  gazing  shyly  up  at  him,  he  took  courage  and  kissed 
the  tempting  little  mouth  which  she  seemed  to  offer  him,  just 
as  she  had  often  done  as  a  child.  Was  she  really  his  ? 
Could  this  thing  be  ?  It  had  come  to  him  so  suddenly — the 
consummation  of  dreams  that  had  never  taken  the  substance 
of  actual  hope  ;  which,  of  late,  he  had  persuaded  himself  were 
beyond  the  range  of  possibility.  It  seemed  incredible  that 
he  should  have  won  so  great  a  prize. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  427 

"  I  have  learned  something,  Basil,"  she  whispered,  with  a 
touch  of  the  old  mischief  in  her  voice.  "  I'm  not  such  an  ig 
noramus,  now,  as  Uncle  Josias  once  said  I  was.  I  shan't 
object  to  your  loving  me  as  much  as  you  please.  I  treated 
you  abominably  that  day  when  we  were  here — how  long  ago 
it  seems ! — but  I  didn't  know.  You'll  forgive  me — won't 
you  ?  I  was  only  a  silly  girl,  and  perhaps,  I'm  not  much 
better  even  yet ;  but  at  least,  I  know  what  you  are  to  me. 
I've  needed  you  so  much  1  " 

"  You're  not  afraid  to  trust  yourself  to  me  ? "  he  asked, 
with  a  happy  laugh,  recalling  her  denunciation  of  matrimony 
as  a  form  of  servitude  impossible  for  her.  "  You've  given 
up  the  idea  of  becoming  an  old  maid  ?  Remember,  you 
said  you  could  never  promise  to  obey  :  I  may  prove  to  be  a 
tyrant,  you  know  I  " 

"  No,  I'm  not  afraid,"  she  said,  with  a  confident  smile. 
"  The  danger  doesn't  seem  so  great  now  that  I  have  discov 
ered  what  your  love  really  means.  I've  had  time — such  a 
long  time  !  — to  think  over  what  you  said  to  me  here.  It 
wasn't  until  I  feared  I  had  lost  you  that  I  began  to  think. 
Then,  I  knew  you  were  everything  to  me — more  than  the 
independence,  the  freedom  of  which  I  was  so  proud ;  oh,  infi 
nitely  more  than  all  I  had  cherished  until  then  !  A  tyrant  ? 
You  couldn't  be  hard  with  me — could  you  ? — and  if  you  were, 
I  wouldn't  complain.  Do  you  wonder  I  am  so  meek  ?  I 
love  you,  Basil  1  " 

I  love  you !  The  words  thrilled  him.  What  inexpressible 
happiness  they  implied.  Ah,  they  were  worth  waiting  for  1 
Did  they  not  repay  him  exorbitantly  for  all  he  had  had  to 
bear  ?  Was  it  possible  she  felt  for  him  all  he  felt  for  her ; 
that  she  might  actually  hunger  for  a  look  from  him,  a  touch, 
a  gentler  word  ? 

"  Take  care  1  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you'll  make  me  conceited : 
I  am  tempted  to  cry  out,  <  See  what  a  fine  fellow  I  am  ;  she 


428  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

loves  me  ! '     Oh,  Lydia,  the  world  is  a  new  world  for  me. 
God  is  so  good  tome ;  He  has  granted  my  heart's  desire." 

He  bowed  his  head  in  unconscious  thanksgiving  as  he 
spoke.  At  the  moment,  the  birds  were  silent ;  only  the  mur 
mur  of  the  brook  and  the  faint  sighing  of  the  wind  among 
the  trees  could  be  heard.  But  to  both  Lydia  and  Basil,  it 
seemed  as  if  there  were  jubilation  all  about  them.  There  is 
no  sweeter  music  than  that  with  which  great  happiness  fills 
all  space. 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

LYDIA  and  Basil  were  married  during  Christmas  week. 
This  was  the  one  great  festival  of  the  year  on  the  planta 
tions,  with  lesser  holidays  at  Easter  and  Whitsuntide.  At 
Christmas,  the  slaves  enjoyed  special  indulgences,  as  of 
prescriptive  right,  and  usually  succeeded  in  extracting 
largesses  from  even  the  most  niggardly  master  or  mistress. 
Most  of  the  plantations  had  been  deserted  by  the  negroes, 
but  enticing  memories  of  Christmas  at  the  Quarter  at 
tracted  many  of  the  fugitives  back  to  their  former  homes, 
and  at  nearly  all  the  Quarters — including,  much  to  the  Colo 
nel's  gratification,  the  Quarter  at  the  Manor — joy  reigned 
again.  Huge  open  fires  shone  on  happy,  laughing  faces. 
TJusky  figures  grouped  themselves  about  a  banjoist  or  a 
fiddler,  singing  gaily,  patting  juba,  and  breaking  out,  now 
then,  into  a  lively  hoe-down  or  double-shuffle.  Old  uncles, 
in  snug  corners  by  the  fireside,  amused  the  pickaninnies,  and 
perhaps,  a  "  Young  Marse,"  with  blood-curdling  ghost  stories 
or  exciting  narratives  of  adventures  in  hunting  the  'coon  or 
'possum.  At  daybreak  Christmas  morning,  there  was  a 
procession  of  men,  women  and  children  from  every  Quarter 
to  "  de  big  house,"  there  to  lie  in  wait  for  different 
members  of  the  family,  and  "  ketch "  them  "  Chrismus 
gif." 

The  spirit  of  the  occasion  invaded  even  the  grief-stricken 
household  at  the  Manor  and  imparted  cheerfulness  to  the 
general  atmosphere,  which  had  already  been  brightened  by 
Lydia's  happiness  and  the  Colonel's  conviction  that  Basil 
would  help  him  out  of  his  difficulties.  The  Colonel's  wife 

429 


430  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

seemed  actually  to  gain  in  strength  and  animation,  and  Ole 
Miss  had  never  been  more  alert,  more  energetic.  She,  too, 
was  confident  that  Basil  would  straighten  out  things. 

The  morning  of  the  wedding  day  dawned  clear  and  crisp. 
A  deep  snow  had  wreathed  the  shrubbery  of  lawn  and  garden 
with  delicate  lace  work  of  many  patterns,  and  had  cast  a 
feathery  mantle  over  the  earth.  The  jingle  of  sleigh-bells 
was  heard  everywhere  on  the  roads.  Their  blithe  music 
was  destined  to  linger  long  in  the  memories  of  many  as  a 
reminder  that  the  Old  Order  had  then  had  its  last  fling. 
Caesar,  however,  put  his  veto  on  the  Colonel's  mandate  for  a 
sleigh  in  which  to  convey  the  wedding  party  to  church. 
Nothing  less  than  the  big  coach,  he  insisted,  would  comport 
with  the  dignity  of  the  occasion.  He  impressed  Pompey 
as  footman,  and  himself  handled  the  reins,  having  carefully 
fed  and  groomed  the  spirited  horses  for  a  week  in  advance, 
so  that  they  curveted  and  pranced  and  bore  themselves  as 
smartly  as  he  could  have  wished. 

In  all  its  history — even  in  the  old  colonial  days  of  pomp 
and  display,  of  silks  and  satins  for  men  as  well  as  women 
— Winton  Church  had  seldom  presented  a  brighter  in 
terior.  To  its  Christmas  garb  of  holly  and  cedar,  had  been 
added  a  profusion  of  hot-house  plants  and  flowers.  The 
altar  was  lighted  with  wax  tapers,  an  innovation  of  the  new 
rector,  a  clergyman  of  High  Church  tendencies,  and  these, 
with  the  sunshine  reflected  from  the  snow  outside,  lit  up  the 
scene  with  unusual  brilliance.  From  stained  glass  windows 
in  .one  of  the  gable-ends,  streamed  a  flood  of  crimson  and 
purple  beams  which  fell  here  and  there  on  the  quaint,  high- 
backed  pews  filled  to  overflowing  with  the  gentry  of  the 
neighbourhood  and  people  of  every  shade  of  social  condition. 
All  the  servants  from  the  Manor,  including  many  of  the  run 
aways,  together  with  negroes  from  neighbouring  plantations, 
were  assembled  in  the  gallery,  and  the  sprinkling  of  turbaned 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  431 

"  aunties  "  contributed  not  a  little  to  the  general  effect  with 
their  lively  Sunday  gowns  and  flaming  bandannas. 

The  churchyard  was  filled  with  sleighs,  the  restive  horses 
stamping  or  pawing  the  snow  and  causing  their  strings  of 
bells  to  tinkle  gaily.  The  negro  drivers,  smiling  with  holi 
day  good  humour,  gossiped  together  in  groups.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  the  old  church  itself  had  furbished  up  for  the 
occasion.  Certainly,  its  weather-beaten  countenance  had 
never  looked  smarter.  The  bright  sunshine  gave  its  thick 
growth  of  ivy  a  richer  green  and  chequered  its  sober  walls 
of  drab  and  brown  with  ruddier  tints. 

There  was  a  reception  at  the  Manor  which  lasted  the 
whole  afternoon  and  late  into  the  night,  and  notwithstanding 
the  absence  of  many  familiar  figures,  owing  to  the  general 
exodus  South,  the  gathering  was  typical  of  conditions  that 
were  soon  to  exist  no  more.  There  was  much  feasting  and 
unlimited  toasting  of  the  bride.  It  was  all  exactly  as  it 
should  be,  in  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Plunkett,  who  officiated  as 
master  of  ceremonies.  He  would  have  felt  that  something 
had  gone  wrong,  had  any  one  of  the  guests  failed  to  get  as 
comfortably  tipsy  as  he  wished.  As  for  the  ladies,  they  had 
retired  long  before  the  jollification  had  reached  its  climax 
in  a  general  state  of  hilarity,  and  though  they  had  very  def 
inite  suspicions  as  to  what  was  going  on,  no  intimation  of  it 
was  permitted  to  reach  their  ears.  As  the  gray  of  morning 
peeped  in  upon  the  scene,  "  Marse  Jose  "  turned  to  the 
Colonel,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "  That  was  something 
like  a  wedding  !  "  he  exclaimed,  ''•  but  it  was  hard  work,  with 
only  a  handful  of  niggers.  There'll  be  precious  few  more  of 
its  kind.  Entertaining,  sir,  will  soon  be  a  lost  art  with  us." 

Basil  did  not  return  to  the  army  because  of  his  wound, 
which  had  incapacitated  him  for  active  service.  At  the 
Colonel's  request,  he  at  once  took  charge  of  affairs  at  the 
Manor.  Reeve  exhibited  an  eager  readiness  to  accoin- 


432  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

modate  matters,  now  that  Basil  was  in  control.  He  deemed 
it  prudent  to  omit  from  his  list  of  claims  certain  charges  he 
had  meant  to  exact.  He  even  professed  perfect  willingness 
to  renew  the  mortgages  for  a  longer  period,  and  was  pro 
fuse  in  his  offers  to  give  Basil  any  assistance  he  might 
need.  All  hope  of  realising  his  schemes  had  ended  with 
Lydia's  marriage,  and  he  was  anxious  to  save  himself  from 
the  imputation  of  having  taken  advantage  of  the  Colonel. 
He  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  his  son's  release  from 
prison,  and  was  disposed  to  congratulate  himself  if  he  could 
contrive  to  satisfy  Basil.  For  his  part,  Basil  was  well  con 
tent  with  the  terms  he  offered.  The  prices  of  grain  and  cattle 
were  constantly  rising  in  consequence  of  the  war,  and  he 
had  little  doubt  of  his  ability  to  pay  off  the  Colonel's  in 
debtedness  in  course  of  time.  It  was  not  an  easy  task,  how 
ever,  and  for  several  years,  he  was  compelled  to  work  hard 
and  to  suffer  much  anxiety.  At  last,  by  dint  of  close 
economy  and  the  sale  of  some  outlying  lands,  he  was  enabled 
to  announce  to  the  Colonel  that  he  was  once  more  solvent. 
The  Colonel  at  once  regained  much  of  his  old  buoyancy  of 
spirits.  His  credit  was  saved  ;  the  family  dignity  was  again 
secure.  Lydia  was  very  proud  of  Basil's  success,  which  had 
so  fully  justified  her  faith  in  him.  Old  Caesar,  too,  was 
immensely  gratified,  and  plumed  himself  on  having  helped 
to  bring  about  the  change.  Basil  had  restored  him  to  his 
old  position  of  overseer,  and  he  had  proven  himself  a  most 
zealous  and  capable  lieutenant. 

"  Ef  Ole  Marster  (the  Judge)  kin  see  what's  happenin' 
down  hyar,  Mistus,"  he  said  to  Ole  Miss  one  day,  "  he  must 
feel  mighty  peart  en'  comfortable.  De  Manor  wasn't  enny 
better  off  in  his  day,  even.  Marse  Basil's  brung  it  right  up." 
He  did  not  add  what  was  clear  to  his  mind — that  Young 
Miss's  "  good  looks  "  were  of  some  use,  after  all,  in  having 
"ketched  "  her  such  a  husband  as  Marse  Basil. 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  433 

Ole  Miss  nodded  assent  with  a  cheerful  smile.  Yes,  her 
husband's  heart  would  be  gladdened,  if  he  could  know.  The 
Manor  had  not  been  merely  a  place,  to  him,  but  an  idea. 
It  was  a  heritage,  in  trust,  to  be  preserved,  improved,  devel 
oped  for  future  generations.  It  was  the  basis  of  the  family 
influence  and  position.  Without  it  to  sustain  and  inspire 
them,  the  Chestons  must  sink  to  the  common  level.  His  anx 
iety  on  this  point  had  been  extreme  ;  but  now,  his  fears 
would  have  been  set  at  rest.  Basil's  intelligence  and  will 
supplied  the  saving  force  that  was  needed.  She  was  deeply 
grateful  to  him ;  her  manner  towards  him  was  always  tender ; 
she  rendered  him  a  kind  of  deference  which  was  often  em 
barrassing.  The  pathos  of  it  touched  him.  He  knew  that, 
in  her  heart,  she  was  always  regretting  he  was  not  a  Cheston. 
Ah  yes,  if  he  were  but  one  of  her  own  name  and  blood  1  She 
often  sighed  at  the  thought  that  after  the  death  of  her  son, 
the  Colonel,  there  would  be  no  more  Chestons  of  the  Manor. 
But  Lydia  bore  a  son,  and  at  Basil's  suggestion,  it  was  decided 
that  he  should  be  called  Cheston,  without  prefixing  Robert, 
as  they  had  meant  to  do  in  honor  of  his  grandfather,  in 
order  that  the  name  might  continue  to  be  associated  with  the 
place. 

The  close  of  Ole  Miss's  life,  comforted  by  this  assurance 
and  by  the  return  of  peace  and  prosperity  to  the  Manor,  was 
tranquil  and  even  happy.  To  the  last,  she  exhibited  the 
keenest  interest  in  the  family  affairs  and  exercised  the  same 
controlling  influence  in  the  household.  She  lived  to  be  nearly 
ninety,  and  up  to  within  a  few  weeks  of  her  death,  made  her 
appearance  almost  every  Sunday  at  church.  Caesar,  as  had 
always  been  his  habit,  continued  to  drive  her  coach  whenever 
she  went  abroad.  Upon  its  arrival  at  the  church  door,  he 
descended  with  impressive  deliberation  from  the  box,  let  down 
the  folding  steps,  and  lifting  his  hat,  held  out  his  hand  to 
help  Ole  Miss  alight.  Sometimes,  in  the  Colonel's  absence, 
28 


434  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

she  took  his  arm,  and  the  old  negro,  proud  of  this  office, 
escorted  her  up  the  aisle  to  the  family  pew  with  head  erect 
and  a  manner  to  the  full  as  dignified  as  her  own. 

The  Colonel  remained  an  "  unreconstructed  rebel,"  a 
thorough  "  Bourbon  "  to  the  end  of  his  days.  After  the  close 
of  the  war,  he  took  but  little  part  in  public  affairs,  and  seldom 
set  foot  off  the  Manor.  The  country,  in  his  opinion,  was 
going  to  the  dogs.  The  general  chaos  which  the  downfall  of 
slavery  had  brought  about  bewildered  and  distressed  him. 
At  home,  his  life  was  much  the  same  as  it  had  always  been, 
but  beyond  the  confines  of  the  Manor,  all  was  confusion. 
He  mourned  especially  the  rapid  decay  of  the  distinctive 
practices  of  Tidewater  hospitality  which  had  depended  for 
their  existence  upon  the  maintenance  of  slavery.  The  fre 
quent  interchange  of  courtesies,  the  lavish  entertainments, 
the  dances,  the  dinners,  the  fox-hunts  were  no  longer  possible 
for  a  people  who  suddenly  found  themselves  compelled  to 
face  the  hardest  privations  and  to  labour  painfully,  and  in  most 
cases,  ineffectively,  to  save  something  from  the  wreck  of  their 
fortunes.  His  caste  was  doomed — the  Colonel  saw  this 
clearly — and  his  heart  was  saddened  when  he  thought  of  all 
it  meant  to  him.  Still,  on  the  whole,  he  was  not  unhappy. 
He  fully  realised  the  fact  that  he  was  far  luckier  than  many  of 
his  neighbours.  His  future,  and  the  future  of  all  his  house 
hold,  was  secure.  He  was  "  Marster,"  still,  to  Caesar  and 
Dinah,  Pompey  and  Phyllis ;  and  his  heart  was  rejoiced  by  the 
thought  that  there  was  a  young  "  Marster  "  who  bade  fair  to 
become  a  worthy  representative  of  the  name  he  bore. 

It  was  the  Colonel's  chief  pleasure  in  his  old  age  to  in 
struct  his  grandson  in  the  habits,  tastes  and  principles  which 
he  deemed  indispensable  to  a  gentleman.  He  taught  him  to 
ride,  to  shoot,  to  manage  a  canoe,  to  carve  a  canvas-back 
duck,  to  enter  a  room,  to  bow  to  a  lady,  and  to  do  any  number 
of  things  which  he  thought  important.  Under  his  tutelage, 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  435 

the  boy  became  quite  skilful  with  the  flute,  of  which  the 
Colonel  was  a  master,  and  learned  to  play  all  the  old-fash 
ioned  airs,  such  as  Malbrook,  Bonnie  Dundee,  Black  Eyed 
Susan.  At  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  was  quite  an  authority  on 
horses  and  fox-hunting.  His  manners  were  perfect,  his 
grandfather  thought  ;  he  seemed  to  have  a  due  regard  for 
his  ancestry,  and  he  could  repeat  the  main  facts  of  the 
family  genealogy  without  omitting  any  one  of  the  many  links. 

The  Colonel  never  aired  his  political  prejudices  before 
the  lad.  That  part  of  his  training,  he  decided,  must  be  left 
to  Basil ;  otherwise,  he  might  have  created  differences  be 
tween  father  and  son.  He  sometimes  indemnified  himself, 
however,  by  arguing  hotly  with  Basil,  when  they  were  safe 
out  of  Cheston's  hearing,  as  to  the  practical  results  of  the 
war  which,  he  insisted,  were  wholly  disastrous. 

Although  Basil  could  not  be  induced  to  recant  any  of  his 
opinions,  he  was  compelled  to  admit  that  some  of  the 
changes  were  even  worse  than  he  had  feared.  He  saw,  with 
sorrow,  that,  as  he  had  anticipated,  the  salutary  influences  of 
the  old  social  system  were  slowly  but  surely  disappearing,  to 
give  place  to  a  confused  medley  of  new  ideas  and  impulses. 
The  spirit  of  genial  contentment  had  been  succeeded  by 
one  of  general  unrest.  Men  began  to  elbow  each  other 
rudely.  The  business  affairs  of  the  community  fell  into 
disorder.  The  whole  fabric  of  industry  and  trade  which  had 
rested  on  the  plantation  system  toppled  over  now  that  the 
foundation  stone  of  slavery  had  been  removed.  There  had 
been  large  mercantile  dealings  with  planters  owning  many 
slaves.  These  had  ceased.  Many  of  the  planters  were  now 
no  larger  purchasers  than  some  of  the  "  poor  whites  "  ;  in 
place  of  their  old  prodigality,  nearly  all  of  them  were  forced  to 
practise  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  economy.  Everything  was 
cheapened  and  reduced  to  smaller  proportions.  A  host  of 
small  shops  took  the  place  of  the  old-fashioned,  roomy 


436  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

stores  with  their  large  stocks  of  goods,  and  a  keen,  eager 
competition  was  substituted  for  the  urbanity  and  indolence 
which  had  formerly  characterised  business  methods. 

Men  were  now  anxious  to  make  money  in  ways  that 
would,  but  a  few  years  before,  have  been  considered  ques 
tionable  or  even  dishonest.  The  planters,  once  so  fastidious 
in  matters  of  dress,  bought  their  clothing  and  shoes  ready 
made.  Tailors  and  shoemakers  began  to  disappear.  Har 
ness-makers,  carriage-makers,  wheelwrights  found  their  oc 
cupations  gone.  The  planters  had  discovered  they  could 
buy  more  cheaply  from  factories,  and  must  do  it.  A 
small  woollen  mill  in  the  neighbourhood,  which  had  taken 
their  wool  to  manufacture  into  yarns  and  kerseys  for  their 
slaves,  closed  its  doors.  Industry  gradually  narrowed  its 
sphere  of  activities  more  and  more,  and  labour  became  less 
and  less  efficient.  A  blight  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  the 
whole  community.  The  negroes  suffered  most  of  all. 
Many  of  them  soon  sank  into  a  condition  little  short  of  their 
original  barbarism,  and  while  there  were  a  few,  here  and 
there,  who  showed  themselves  to  be  industrious  and  thrifty, 
the  great  mass  grew  sadly  idle  and  shiftless.  Their  former 
masters,  now  impoverished,  had  neither  time  nor  means  to 
"  look  after  "  them  as  they  had  been  wont  to  do.  There 
was  no  restraining  influence,  no  stimulus  to  effort.  It  was 
easy  for  them  to  scratch  a  living  by  occasional  labor  in  the 
fields  or  by  taking  fish  and  oysters.  They  showed  an  in 
creasing  tendency  to  herd  together  in  the  woods.  Their 
habits  were  nomadic,  predatory.  Disorder  and  petty  crimes 
grew  rife  among  them.  They  were  rapidly  becoming  an 
obnoxious  element,  and  race  prejudice  assumed  a  new  and 
bitter  form. 

But  all  this,  Basil  hoped,  would  prove  to  be  but  a  tem 
porary  consequence  of  the  upheaval  caused  by  the  war. 
After  awhile,  when  things  had  settled  down,  the  new  condi- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  437 

tions  would  doubtless  adjust  themselves,  and  society  would 
take  on  the  normal  aspect  of  free  communities  elsewhere. 
Without  an  exception,  so  far  as  he  could  discover,  those 
communities  were  prosperous  and  happy.  He  overlooked 
the  fact  that  their  economy  had  developed  from  a  wholly 
different  base  and  had  followed  a  consistent,  uninterrupted 
course.  It  had  suffered  no  sudden  wrench  or  diversion,  and 
race  antagonisms , could  hardly  be  said  to  exist.  As  time 
wore  on,  he  discovered  that  conditions  were  not  adjusting 
themselves  as  he  had  expected  :  the  confusion  increased  ; 
the  negroes  continued  to  grow  worse  ;  the  general  tone  of 
the  community  was  palpably  deteriorating.  It  was  nothing 
less  than  a  great  social  revolution  that  was  being  worked 
out  without  intelligence,  by  the  mere  play  of  mechanical 
forces,  with  no  conscious  effort  on  the  part  of  any  one  to 
direct  or  control  it. 

Basil  felt  a  strong  sense  of  personal  obligation  to  find 
some  remedy,  if  it  were  only  palliative  :  he  was  one  of  the 
few  men  in  the  region  who,  by  taking  sides  with  the  vic 
torious  North,  had  helped  to  precipitate  this  convulsion. 
But  the  disorder  was  so  widespread,  so  deeply  ramified, 
that  he  speedily  perceived  the  futility  of  attempting  to 
do  more  than  seek  to  extract,  in  his  own  immediate 
neighbourhood,  from  the  coarse  but  virile  elements  which 
were  slowly  crystallising  into  a  definite  form  of  society, 
whatever  might  be  beneficial,  and  to  preserve,  in  so  far  as 
he  could,  the  refining  influences  of  the  past.  He  might 
at  least  make  the  Manor  a  rallying  point  for  the  few  who 
shared  his  views,  and  perhaps,  play  an  unobtrusive  but  useful 
part  in  public  affairs.  For  a  long  time,  it  was  cheerless  work. 
Even  the  more  intelligent  of  his  neighbours  were  lukewarm. 
The  planters,  generally,  were  either  soured  or  reduced 
to  apathy  by  the  disaster  that  had  overtaken  them.  Even 
the  old  habit  of  leadership  failed  to  assert  itself  ;  their  spirit 


438  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

was  broken.  Besides,  a  new  element  was  coming  to  the 
front.  The  "  poor  whites "  were  profiting  by  conditions 
fatal  to  the  supremacy  of  their  former  rulers.  As  the  plant 
ers,  unable  to  adapt  themselves  to  economies  habitual  to  a 
labouring  class,  gradually  fell  behind,  and  one  after  another 
was  "sold  out,"  the  thrifty  tenants  and  many  of  the 
former  overseers,  who  had  been  making  money  in  the  mean 
time,  bought  up  the  land.  They  became,  in  time,  the  real 
force  of  the  community,  and  as  soon  as  they  realised  this 
fact,  they  began  to  take  advantage  of  it.  There  was  more 
or  less  class  rancour  in  the  eagerness  with  which  the  more 
ambitious  of  them  shoved  their  former  patrons  aside,  de 
nouncing  them  as  dry-rotten  "  old  fogies,"  and  appealed  to 
the  "  plain  people  "  to  assert  themselves. 

What  Reeve  predicted  to  Edgar  had  come  to  pass.  It 
was  the  "  new  blood  against  the  old,"  and  Reeve,  himself, 
was  one  of  the  first  to  profit  by  the  change.  He  began  to 
pose  as  a  champion  of  popular  rights  against  the  "  Bourbon  " 
element,  and  to  demand  a  "  new  deal  "  in  political  offices. 
His  rise  was  rapid.  A  leader,  shrewd,  resourceful,  unscru 
pulous,  was  needed  to  weld  together  the  parts  of  the  new 
political  machinery  which,  as  yet,  was  but  a  clumsy  and 
inefficient  piece  of  mechanism.  Reeve  proved  himself  to 
be  a  master  hand.  Men  denounced  him  as  a  trickster,  a 
demagogue,  a  schemer  who  would  sacrifice  his  best  friend 
when  his  personal  interest  was  at  stake,  but  he  did  not  seem 
to  mind  in  the  least,  and  preserved  an  impassive  calm  under 
the  most  vicious  assaults.  Charges  of  corruption  were 
brought  against  him  ;  he  did  not  answer  them.  He  was 
accused  of  buying  votes,  of  stuffing  ballot  boxes,  of  accept 
ing  bribes  for  "  putting  through  "  legislation  for  big  cor 
porations  ;  of  assessing  office-holders  for  campaign  purposes 
and  pocketing  the  greater  part  of  the  proceeds.  He  held 
his  tongue,  and  went  on  perfecting  the  organisation  and 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  439 

piling  up  "  safe "  majorities  at  every  election.  He  had  a 
genius  for  management,  a  perfect  mastery  of  the  details  of 
"  practical  politics." 

Naturally,  he  made  some  bitter  enemies,  but  he  had  a 
disciplined  army  of  followers  and  so-called  friends.  Men 
looked  to  him  alone  for  preferment,  and  hung  upon  his 
lightest  word  as  meaning  either  distinction  or  hopeless  ob 
scurity  for  them.  No  man  could  succeed  in  public  life 
without  his  consent,  and  he  took  care  that  none  should 
succeed  who  were  likely  to  threaten  his  influence.  The 
"  plain  people  "  had,  indeed,  rid  themselves  of  a  group  of 
rulers,  but  they  had  merely  substituted  a  single  "  boss  "  who 
governed  them,  not  as  the  "  aristocrats  "  had  done,  with  more 
or  less  fidelity  to  high  ideals,  but  for  his  own  selfish  purposes, 
without  regard  to  the  general  good.  His  influence  was,  in 
fact,  supreme. 

Basil  watched  Reeve's  rise  to  power  with  growing  disheart- 
enment.  To  his  mind,  it  was  symptomatic.  The  root  of  the 
disease  was  to  be  found  in  the  people  themselves — in  their 
lowered  standards,  their  increasing  cupidity,  their  general 
acquiescence  in  the  view  that  politics  was  a  trade,  and  that 
their  chief  interest  in  the  result  of  an  election  lay  in  the 
places  or  the  jobs  that  might  fall  to  their  share.  It  was  all 
the  more  hopeless  for  him  to  attempt  to  stem  the  tide  because 
of  the  general  prejudice  against  him  as  a  "  Yankee,"  though 
this  was  mitigated  by  the  Colonel's  acceptance  of  him  as  his 
son-in-law.  Even  when  he  was  found  to  be  a  "  good  Demo 
crat,"  Reeve  succeeded  in  discrediting  him  by  classing  him 
with  the  "  silk  stocking  crowd  "  whom  he  was  constantly 
holding  up  to  popular  derision. 

Still,  he  persevered.  At  least,  he  would  preserve  his  own 
independence,  and  do  what  he  could  to  build  up  a  healthier 
sentiment.  He  busied  himself  with  various  schemes  for 
improving  the  condition  of  those  about  him,  and  never  seek- 


440  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

ing  or  even  consenting  to  accept  an  office  for  himself,  was 
always  to  be  found  in  the  front  of  any  movement  for 
political  reform.  For  years,  he  accomplished  but  little. 
Reeve  beat  him  again  and  again  by  "overwhelming"  ma 
jorities  at  the  district  primaries,  in  county  conventions, 
and  finally,  in  the  State  Legislature  in  a  desperate  fight  on 
Basil's  part  to  prevent  his  election  as  United  States  Senator. 
It  was  a  bitter  thing  for  Basil  to  see  Reeve  seated,  as  he  saw 
him  once — secure,  self-confident,  blandly  condescending — in 
a  place  which,  with  but  few  exceptions,  had  been  occupied  by 
honourable,  high-minded  men.  Reeve  had  now  reached  the 
summit  of  his  political  ambition.  He  could  never  hope  to 
be  President — he  came  from  too  small  a  state,  and  one  that 
was  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  Line.  Having  nothing 
further  to  gain  in  political  preferment,  he  turned  his  attention 
to  making  more  money.  He  was  not  yet  rich  enough  ;  he 
aimed  to  become  a  great  millionaire,  and  there  were  many 
"  good  things  "  open  to  a  Senator.  Of  course,  he  was  no 
longer  susceptible  to  bribes.  He  could  afford  to  be  virtuous 
now,  and  his  new  dignity  demanded  that  he  should  be  se 
verely  circumspect.  But  he  could  speculate  on  legislation 
without  sacrificing  respectability,  and  there  were  corporations 
only  too  glad  to  let  him  in  on  the  "ground  floor." 

Social  honours  came  to  him  at  last.  People  were  eager  to  en 
tertain  so  distinguished  a  personage.  Even  in  his  own  county, 
he  found  himself  a  social  power.  The  "  old  people  "  had 
been  forced  to  take  a  back  seat,  and  his  supporters  were  now 
the  dispensers  of  hospitality  and  even  the  arbiters  in  fashion, 
display  and  dress.  His  satisfaction  was  qualified  by  the  fact 
that  he  was  never  able  to  enjoy  the  supreme  delight  of 
snubbing  an  aristocrat.  Whenever  he  met  a  man  like 
the  Colonel,  he  had  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  nothing 
he  could  do  or  say  would  matter  to  him.  He  was  ever  so 
much  more  comfortable  in  Washington.  There,  he  had  a 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  441 

fine  house  on  a  fashionable  street,  and  Oswald  helped 
him  to  do  the  honours  to  a  mob  of  people  who  thronged  his 
parlours,  ate  his  terrapin  and  drank  his  champagne,  and  ridi 
culed  him  behind  his  back.  Oswald  settled  down  to  this 
sort  of  life  with  easy  complaisance.  His  disappointment 
about  Lydia  had  cured  him  of  any  higher  ambition.  Be 
sides,  in  Washington,  he  had  no  very  rigorous  prejudices  to 
face.  Society  there  was  not  too  exacting.  It  was  made  up 
of  so  many  heterogeneous  elements  that  few  could  afford  to 
draw  the  lines  closely,  except  the  old  "  resident "  families 
who  were  gradually  losing  their  influence  and  becoming  lost 
in  the  crowd.  Oddly  enough,  too,  Oswald  commended  him 
self  even  to  them,  because  of  the  impression  which  his  father 
managed  to  spread  abroad  that  the  Reeves  were  "  old  Mary 
land  people,"  originally — a  fiction  which  Oswald's  manners 
seemed  to  confirm  in  spite  of  the  Senator's  vulgarisms  which, 
at  last,  were  set  down  as  mere  eccentricities. 

Oswald  rose  to  a  certain  prominence  in  course  of  time. 
He  was  a  figure  at  the  Club,  a  leader  of  germans,  a  desirable 
acquisition  at  "  swell "  entertainments.  A  reputation  for 
being  rather  fast  made  him  all  the  more  interesting  with 
women  who  liked  to  gossip  about  risque"  things  and  felt  a 
keen,  if  repressed  curiosity  concerning  topics  they  had  been 
taught  to  avoid.  It  seemed  to  them  that  they  were  associating 
with  a  dangerous,  fascinating  fellow  who  must  be  held  in 
check,  and  there  was  excitement  in  the  thought.  The  ease 
with  which  he  carried  it  off  impressed  them  the  more.  It  was 
impossible  to  corner  or  embarrass  him.  He  seemed  to  be  a 
hardened  sinner  1  It  was  whispered,  for  example,  that  he 
was  having  a  desperate  affair  with  the  beautiful  actress, 
Ethel  Vane,  the  heroine  of  many  sensational  stories,  and  one 
day,  he  was  seen  walking  with  her  on  one  of  the  principal 
streets.  Several  ladies  of  his  acquaintance  passed  them, 
and  all  had  the  same  story  to  tell.  He  pretended  not  to  see 


442  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

any  one  of  them,  they  said,  but  sauntered  along  with  his  eyes 
fastened  on  the  actress's  face,  talking  and  laughing,  with 
brazen  disregard  of  appearances.  When  he  next  met  them, 
it  was  with  the  most  natural  air  in  the  world,  as  if  nothing 
whatever  had  happened.  What  could  be  done  with  such  a 
wretch  ? 

Ethel  Vane  was  not  in  the  least  deceived  by  his  affectation 
of  not  knowing  the  women  they  had  met.  She  was  well 
aware  they  were  friends  of  his,  and  understood  perfectly  that 
he  could  not  afford  to  recognise  them  when  in  her  company. 
It  would  be  a  gross  affront  to  them.  She  never  resented 
these  invidious  distinctions.  It  was  only  what  she  had  to 
expect.  Had  she  not  declared  war  upon  society  ?  Why 
should  she  complain  if  every  woman  who  claimed  to  be  re 
spectable  considered  herself  assailed,  and  struck  at  her  with 
the  only  weapon  at  command — a  real  or  pretended  disdain  ? 
She  had  her  moments  of  triumph,  of  biting  reprisal.  If 
Oswald's  vanity  was  flattered  by  his  apparent  intimacy  with 
her,  it  made  no  difference.  Other  men  boasted  of  her  favour 
when  she  was  merely  using  them.  Oswald  had  a  strong 
claim  upon  her,  but  it  was  not  what  the  world  supposed.  For 
her,  he  was  a  link  which  still  connected  her,  to  a  certain 
extent,  with  the  brief  glimpse  of  happiness  she  had  had  as 
Judith  Cheston  ;  from  him,  she  heard  occasionally  of  the 
course  of  affairs  at  the  Manor.  She  could  not  resist  the  desire 
to  know  what  was  happening  to  Basil.  It  was  clear  from 
what  Oswald  told  her,  from  time  to  time,  that  he  was  not 
discontented.  She  suffered  acutely  from  the  repeated  assur 
ance  that  Lydia  held  him  still  in  the  bonds  of  a  devotion 
which  she  had  not  been  able  to  inspire,  but  though  Oswald's 
reports  always  hurt  her,  she  never  failed  to  question  him 
closely  when  he  brought  her  news  from  the  Manor. 

In  spite  of  her  efforts  to  dissociate  herself  from  him,  Basil 
would  always  be  the  object  of  her  secret  curiosity.  To  her 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  443 

surprise,  she  had  discovered  that  the  influence  he  had 
exerted  was  not  to  be  shaken  off.  Even  in  the  life  she  was 
leading — a  life  of  reckless  disregard  of  all  that  he  would  have 
prescribed  for  her — she  was  conscious  of  restraints  imposed 
by  what  she  imagined  he  would  have  wished.  In  moments 
of  temptation,  she  often  stopped  short  with  a  vivid  sense  of 
the  amazement  and  pain  he  would  doubtless  feel  at  what  she 
was  about  to  do.  Her  heart  bled  at  the  thought  that  it 
might  not  really  matter  to  him  if  he  knew,  but  none  the  less, 
she  often  abstained.  She  even  found  pride  in  the  fact  that, 
whatever  the  world  might  say  of  her,  she  sometimes  merited 
his  approval.  If  she  was  guilty  of  cruelty  to  men  and  women 
who  excited  her  animosity,  it  was  usually  in  punishment  of 
attempted  treacheries  to  her  or  to  others.  He  would  have 
seen  in  them  only  scorpions  of  society  for  whom  no  penalty 
could  be  too  severe.  Against  the  innocent,  the  weak,  the 
merely  rash  and  improvident,  her  hand  was  but  seldom 
raised.  It  was  never  raised  when  she  had  time  to  think. 

To  her  more  intimate  associates,  she  was  a  strange  puzzle 
— a  woman  apparently  careless  of  her  reputation  and  often 
cynically  contemptuous  of  morality  who,  nevertheless,  seemed 
at  times  impervious  to  influences  which  corroded  every 
nature  they  touched.  Every  one  assumed  she  must  have 
some  suitor  whom  she  secretly  favoured,  yet  none  could 
point  out  the  man.  In  reality,  she  thought  more  amiably 
of  Oswald  than  of  any  other,  but  even  with  him,  she 
was  often  cold  and  mocking,  and  never  otherwise  than 
negligently  kind.  There  was  a  degree  of  sympathy  between 
them,  due,  on  her  part,  to  perception  of  the  fact  that  his  fate 
was  much  like  her  own.  He,  too,  had  struggled  for  something 
better,  higher  than  himself,  and  had  been  thrown  back  into  a 
life  of  loneliness,  of  self-absorption,  of  mere  materialism.  If 
she  was  a  woman  whose  life  was  empty,  unlovely,  hard,  he 
was  a  man  who  had  no  longer  anything  to  strive  for ;  who 


444  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

would  grow  old  and  fat  and  more  and  more  selfish,  and  at 
last,  would  lose  his  social  popularity  and  sink  to  the  level  of 
a  mere  club  lounger  and  gossip,  a  superannuated  beau. 

The  years  sped  on,  and  at  last,  a  reaction  came  to  Basil's 
aid.  Long  lease  of  power  by  a  selfish  individual,  however 
adroit  he  may  be,  inevitably  breeds  abuses  and  discontent. 
Men  began  to  say  that  Reeve  had  run  things  long  enough, 
and  ought  to  give  some  one  else  a  chance.  The  ranks  of 
the  few  who,  with  Basil,  honestly  deplored  the  degradation 
of  politics  were  swelled  by  an  increasing  number  of  people 
whom  Reeve  had  either  been  unable  or  unwilling  to  satisfy  or 
had  offended  in  one  way  or  another.  The  public  conscience, 
too,  was  really  stirred.  The  evils  of  the  existing  system  had 
become  so  patent  that  even  the  most  indifferent  were  moved 
to  shame  and  revolt.  Basil  was  chosen,  by  general  consent, 
as  the  one  man  who  had  always  antagonised  Reeve  and  was 
now,  to  most  minds,  above  the  suspicion  of  seeking  aught 
for  himself ,  to  be  the  leader  of  a  movement  which  swept  Reeve 
from  power  and  shattered  the  local "  machine."  His  county 
attained  and  kept  the  distinction  of  being  one  of  the  few 
strongholds  of  reform  in  a  boss-ridden  state.  The  "  prac 
tical  politicians  "  predicted  confidently  that  Basil  would 
seize  the  opportunity  of  obtaining  "  something  big."  Of 
course,  it  was  what  he  had  been  waiting  for  all  along. 
Why  should  he  have  worked  so  hard  against  them,  if  he  had 
not  been  seeking  a  capital  prize  ?  It  was  very  clever  of  him 
to  lie  low  all  these  years,  and  await  his  turn.  They  actually 
admired  his  "  nerve,"  and  began  to  think  of  him  as  the 
coming  man  to  whom  their  allegiance  might  be  profitably 
transferred.  When  Basil  came  forward  to  urge  other  men 
for  places,  and  again  declared  his  unalterable  determination 
to  remain  in  private  life,  the  "  heelers  "  were  puzzled,  and 
even  dismayed.  This  was  a  flat  reversal  of  all  their  expe 
rience.  They  could  not  account  for  it  except  upon  the 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  445 

theory  that  he  was  a  "  crank."  If  he  really  meant  to  keep 
the  thing  up,  he  was  clearly  dangerous  :  there  would  be 
little  chance  for  them  ;  their  only  hope  was  to  make  terms 
with  those  of  his  associates  who  might  be  induced  to  listen 
to  reason. 

Basil  acted  from  policy  as  well  as  from  preference.  He 
felt  that  he  would  injure  his  cause  if  he  swerved  from  the 
path  he  had  chosen.  The  community  needed  a  man  who, 
while  always  ready  to  labour  or  to  lead  on  behalf  of  better 
things,  would  be  above  the  imagined  temptation  of  office. 
None  could  successfully  assail  his  motives  so  long  as  he  held 
fast  to  this  course  :  he  would  never  be  beholden  to  any  ; 
his  influence,  whatever  it  might  be,  would  always  appeal  to 
the  intelligence,  the  better  part  of  men's  natures.  It  would 
endure,  and  wax  stronger,  he  hoped,  as  conviction  spread  in 
the  popular  mind,  of  his  sincerity,  his  real  devotion  to  the 
general  good.  He  could  be  far  more  useful  in  this  role,  than 
in  discharging  the  duties  of  any  office.  There  were  plenty 
of  capable,  honest  men  who  were  not  unwilling  to  take  the 
places  to  which  he  might  easily  have  been  called ;  there  were 
few,  if  any,  who  envied  him  a  power  which  brought  no  open 
reward. 

It  was  the  only  kind  of  power  he  craved.  He  was  far  too 
happy  at  the  Manor  to  wish  for  any  other  sphere.  The  life 
of  the  planter  was,  for  him,  the  ideal  life.  There  were  peace 
and  dignity  and  honest  endeavour  in  it.  His  days  were  busy 
with  congenial  work  in  the  management  of  his  father's  prop 
erty  as  well  as  the  Colonel's,  and  Lydia  was  always  be 
side  him  with  her  vivid  interest,  her  tireless  energy,  her 
bright,  eager  spirit  to  sustain  and  cheer  him.  The  charm  of 
her  personality  never  lessened  for  him  ;  it  merely  changed, 
with  the  flight  of  years,  to  something  rarer  and  even  more 
precious — a  closer  communion  of  spirit  which  made  it  seem 
to  him  impossible  that  they  could  ever  be  parted,  even  by 


446  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

Death.  She  had  developed,  as  he  had  thought  she  would, 
into  a  perfect  plantation  mistress  of  the  traditional  type  ; 
she  entered  into  all  his  occupations,  his  interests,  his  tastes, 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  was  never  dimmed.  There  were 
flashes,  now  and  then,  of  her  old  wayward  temper — he  loved 
her  for  them  all  the  more.  Sometimes,  when  she  showed  a 
touch  of  jealousy  at  his  preoccupation  with  his  books  or  with 
interests  more  or  less  alien  to  her,  his  heart  leaped  with  the 
same  wild  joy  as  on  that  day  when  she  had  confessed  her 
love.  They  were  a  couple  whom  many  people  envied,  and 
all  who  knew  them,  admired.  Under  their  joint  direction, 
the  Manor  became  a  focus  of  genial,  beneficent  influences 
which  were  felt  far  and  near.  It  was  one  of  the  few,  the 
very  few,  plantations  where  the  old  hospitality  still  reigned ; 
which  shone,  as  of  yore,  a  beacon  of  inspiration  as  well  as 
of  succour  for  all  who  needed  aid.  The  "  Quarter  "  was 
converted,  in  time,  into  an  asylum  for  indigent  or  ailing 
negroes  for  miles  around.  Lydia  ministered  to  them  with 
her  own  hands  :  when  death  claimed  them,  she  did  not  shrink 
from  closing  their  eyes. 

Although  the  Colonel  could  never  be  induced  to  admit 
that  the  losses  to  the  community  in  the  destruction  of  the 
old  regime  could  be  repaired,  and  insisted,  to  the  last,  that 
the  negroes  had  been  much  happier  as  slaves,  he  was  not 
insensible  to  Basil's  unique  popularity,  and  was  very  proud 
of  his  son-in-law.  He  sometimes  twitted  him  laughingly 
with  the  assertion  that  he  was  but  imitating  the  methods  he 
had  helped  to  pull  down.  It  was  in  precisely  the  same  way, 
he  argued,  that  every  large  slaveholder  had  attained  to  power 
— by  making  himself  generally  useful  and  winning  the  re 
spect  of  those  about  him.  Basil  deserved  the  more  credit 
because  the  new  conditions  were  so  unfavourable.  It  was 
wonderful,  in  the  Colonel's  opinion,  how  completely  he  had 
restored  the  Manor  to  its  old  position  of  dignity  and  influ- 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  447 

ence.  The  atmosphere  of  the  place  had  hardly  changed  at 
all.  When  he  saw  the  same  well-known  faces  about  him, 
the  same  familiar  routine,  the  same  customs  as  in  slavery 
days,  but  little  modified,  it  really  seemed  to  him  that  Basil 
had  found  the  secret  of  reconciling  the  new  conditions  with 
the  old,  so  far  as  the  Manor  was  concerned,  and  of  founding 
the  family  fortunes  anew  on  much  the  same  basis  of  popular 
consideration  and  respect. 

He  had  done  even  more.  Basil's  influence  was  not  merely 
local.  The  Manor  gradually  became  widely  known  as  the 
home  of  a  man  of  signal  success  in  a  field  which,  though 
limited,  was  of  general  interest  because  the  problems  which, 
it  seemed,  were  being  worked  out  there,  were  pressing  more 
or  less  urgently  for  solution  in  the  country  at  large.  His 
political  activity,  so  rare  in  its  self-abnegation,  excited  the 
admiration  of  many  thoughtful  minds.  Political  reformers 
and  students  of  economic  and  social  questions  solicited  his 
views.  He  was  often  puzzled  by  the  consideration  they 
showed  him ;  he  did  not  know  that  they  saw  in  him  a  man 
who  had  done  things  about  which  they  had  only  theorized. 
Visitors  from  the  larger  cities  were  frequent,  and  a  distinctly 
intellectual  flavour  was  imparted  to  the  Manor  hospitality — 
reminding  the  Colonel  of  the  days  when  his  father,  the  Judge, 
had  attracted  notabilities  to  his  table.  But  Basil's  visitors 
were  often  men  of  even  a  higher  stamp.  The  Colonel  sat 
among  them  pleased  yet  wondering,  unable  to  follow  them  in 
some  of  their  more  recondite  discussions.  It  was  a  source 
of  great  satisfaction  to  him  to  find  that  his  son-in-law  was 
seldom  at  fault  and  seemed  well  abreast  of  current  questions. 
And  even  more  gratifying  was  Mr.  Kent's  participation  in 
these  gatherings.  To  the  Colonel's  mind,  there  could  be  no 
stronger  evidence  of  the  superiority  of  the  mental  pabulum 
served  up  at  the  Manor  than  the  fact  that  it  served  to  coax 
his  hermit  friend  from  his  retirement.  Mr.  Kent,  indeed, 


448  A  MARYLAND  MANOR 

came  often  to  the  Manor  after  his  first  timid  essay,  and 
showed  himself  lively,  and  even  aggressive,  in  debate.  Little 
by  little,  he  acquired  a  relish  for  the  ordinary  life  at  the 
Manor,  and  sometimes  forgot  himself  so  far  as  to  ride  over 
when  there  were  no  literary  lions  to  tempt  him,  and  chat 
freely  with  the  Colonel  of  trivial  things.  The  change  in  him 
was  little  short  of  a  miracle  in  the  Colonel's  eyes.  It  was 
Basil  who  had  wrought  this,  also,  by  creating  the  only  influ 
ences  which  could  have  rejuvenated  such  a  man — a  man 
whose  absorption  in  his  books  had  threatened  to  make  a  hope 
less  fossil  of  him. 

Well — had  he  not  often  said  there  were  very  few  men  like 
Basil?  In  the  Colonel's  opinion,  he  was  a  rara  avis.  It 
were  idle  to  hope  that  the  other  planters  would  be  able  to 
imitate  him,  even  in  the  management  of  their  estates.  The 
Colonel  found  strong  confirmation  of  this  theory  in  the 
dwindling  number  of  his  friends  who  still  retained  possession 
of  their  old  homes,  and  in  the  inability  of  even  these  to  do 
more  than  make  both  ends  meet.  It  was  all  the  more  comfort 
ing  to  him  to  feel  that,  long  after  he  himself  was  no  more, 
the  old  place  would  still  be  a  memorial  of  that  vanished  past 
which  was  so  dear  to  him,  which  could  never  be  restored. 

He  was  sure  his  grandson  would  follow  in  the  footsteps  of 
his  father.  A  finer  young  fellow,  he  was  confident,  had  never 
lived.  Cheston  was,  in  fact,  a  noble-looking  youth,  with  his 
mother's  brilliant  dark  eyes  and  her  finely-cut  features  re 
deemed  from  effeminacy  by  his  father's  energy  and  serious 
ness.  His  temper,  like  his  father's,  was  slow  and  grave,  but 
there  were  flashes,  now  and  then,  of  his  mother's  spirit.  The 
Colonel  was  all  the  better  satisfied  with  him  because  of  the 
phlegm  which  formed  the  basis  of  his  character.  "  The  boy 
has  balance,"  he  often  said  to  himself,  delighted  at  Cheston's 
possession  of  a  quality  in  which  he  felt  he  had  been 
painfully  lacking.  "  The  Manor  will  run  no  risks  from  him." 


A  MARYLAND  MANOR  449 

On  the  other  hand,  there  were  points  of  resemblance  between 
himself  and  his  grandson  which  gratified  his  family  pride  and 
endeared  him  all  the  more  to  him.  It  was  delightful  to  see 
himself  living  his  youth  over  again  in  some  of  Cheston's  im 
pulses  and  tastes.  "  He  has  none  of  my  faults,"  the  hum 
bled  old  squire  assured  himself,  "  but  he  is  a  thorough 
Cheston,  thank  God  1  " 

The  Colonel  might  have  spoiled  his  grandson,  had  he 
lived  much  longer,  for  there  was  no  indulgence  he  would  not 
grant  him,  but  before  any  serious  harm  had  been  done, 
"  Ole  Marster  " — one  of  the  very  few  of  the  Tidewater  squires 
who  were  enabled  to  preserve  their  habits,  their  idiosyn- 
cracies,  their  state  to  the  last — passed  away.  The  end  came 
one  afternoon  while  he  was  dozing  in  his  arm-chair  on  the 
front  verandah.  He  sank  imperceptibly  from  sleep  into 
death,  without  the  pain  of  parting  from  his  loved  ones.  The 
Angel  of  Death  had  never  been  kinder.  The  passing  of  his 
sable  wing  cast  no  shadow  on  the  still,  white  face.  The 
strongly  chiselled  features  gleamed  like  sculptured  marble 
in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  winning  a  finer 
quality  from  death,  were  stamped  with  a  spiritual  dignity  and 
beauty  they  had  but  intimated,  at  times,  in  life.  The  Colonel's 
career,  in  its  higher  and  truer  meaning,  was  epitomised  in  the 
calm,  benignant  mask  fast  changing  into  stone.  No  one  could 
have  looked  upon  him  now  without  feeling  that  here  rested 
one  who  had  been  a  true-hearted,  high-minded  gentleman,  not 
destitute  of  weaknesses  and  faults,  but  with  a  soul,  void  of 
guile,  which  must  instinctively  have  risen  superior  to  every 
sordid  or  unworthy  impulse. 

He  was  laid  in  a  corner  of  the  graveyard  where  the  violets 
grew  thickest,  in  the  shade  of  a  favourite  elm.  His  wife  and 
his  mother  lie  beside  him,  and  staunch  old  Caesar  and  Dinah 
sleep  at  his  feet. 

THE  END. 


V 


A     000  003  936     2 


